


The carriage held but just Ourselves

by blue_fjords



Category: Torchwood
Genre: Alternate Universe, Detective Noir, Multi
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-02-02
Updated: 2012-02-02
Packaged: 2017-10-30 12:24:08
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 21,798
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/331704
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/blue_fjords/pseuds/blue_fjords
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Crime novel AU featuring alternating Jack and Gwen POV's.  A serial killer has come to Cardiff, and for CIA Agent Jack Harkness, this time it's personal.  (Dun dun dun!)</p>
            </blockquote>





	The carriage held but just Ourselves

**Author's Note:**

> Re-posting my crime novel AU in one place for uninterrupted reading. Originally written in 2009, finally finished in 2011. Many, many thanks to C for the beta!

Gwen

A 200-pound man with a knife wound in the chest will lose over 70 milliliters of blood every ten seconds, and will continue to lose blood after his heart stops pumping. _But that's more due to the gaping hole than anything else_ , PC Gwen Cooper thought. She took a calming breath. _My first dead body. Should try to keep a handle on my breakfast._

"Gwen." Her partner touched her shoulder. "DI's arrived. And she brought additional suits."

Gwen pulled herself out of her crouch and went with Andy to the edge of the yellow tape they had strung up just a little while ago. Detective Inspector Kathy Swanson parked haphazardly, half on the pavement, and slammed her door shut. She was accompanied by two people that did not belong to the Cardiff police, Gwen was sure. The woman was small, almost dainty, and Japanese. The man looked much too young to have badge and firearm on his belt. Gwen raised her brows to Andy at the sight of the weapon, and he shrugged, grimacing. 

"Right, coppers," DI Swanson said briskly, ducking under the tape. "What've we got here, then?"

Andy launched into their story of following a stray dog to the corpse while Gwen affected an air of nonchalance at being in the presence of a dead man, and eyed the two strangers. Swanson hadn't bothered introducing them, and they studiously ignored the coppers, eyes roaming the crime scene. Andy wrapped up his spiel and Swanson opened her mouth to tell them to go stand at the start of the alley and keep the inevitable crowds back, no doubt, but Gwen cut her off.

"We found something unusual, Ma'am." Andy shook his head at her over Swanson's shoulder, but Gwen barreled on regardless. "There appears to be something rolled up and stuffed in his mouth."

Swanson gave her a sharp look and the two suits stepped closer. "You did not touch anything." Gwen swallowed, and nodded.

Swanson snapped on rubber gloves and crouched gingerly next to the corpse. Very delicately, she swiped a finger into his mouth and pulled out a rolled up piece of parchment. She sighed.

_My life closed twice before its close;  
It yet remains to see  
If Immortality unveil  
A third event to me,  
So huge, so hopeless to conceive,  
As these that twice befell.  
Parting is all we know of heaven,  
And all we need of hell._

"Emily Dickinson," the young man murmured. Gwen glanced at him curiously. That was a slight Valleys accent.

"Shit," Swanson replied.

"Why is Emily Dickinson important? Has this happened before?" Gwen asked, taking a step closer to the suits.

"You need to know, we'll tell you, PC Cooper." Swanson abruptly rose to her feet. "The crowds are gathering," she continued, nodding towards the empty mouth of the alley. "Keep them back. Davidson, when Dr. Harper arrives, escort him back here."

Gwen frowned, and felt her face heat when Andy took her elbow. Dammit, she wanted to _know_.

"Easy tiger, before we get relegated to nothing but pub duty," he muttered as they moved away. "Really, Gwen, questioning the DI? You know they don't tell us anything."

"And how are we supposed to do our jobs then, yeah? I didn't join the police to bow and curtsy to Detective Inspectors," she fumed. Quietly.

"That's because you want to _be_ a Detective Inspector." Andy glanced down the length of the alley. Swanson and the young man were conferring at the head of the corpse while the tiny Japanese woman took pictures. "What I want to know is why Interpol is in on the action."

Gwen started. She hadn't been able to make out the detail on the young man's badge. "Interpol, Andy? Seriously?"

He snorted. "You'd have seen if you ever opened your eyes instead of your mouth." He smiled to take the sting out of his words, and Gwen quirked a smile back before looking once more down the alley. _Interpol. Interesting._

She did not look up at the roofs of the surrounding buildings. If she had, she would have seen a tall man in an RAF coat, staring down into the alley and clenching and unclenching his fists. If sound could travel that far, she would have heard a growled curse: _Suzie Costello._

 

Jack

Jack Harkness flicked the newspaper open and ostensibly began to read the sports page. To the outside observer, he appeared to be quite absorbed in cricket scores. On closer inspection, however, one could tell that his eyes spent more time on the door across the street than on the headlines before him. 

His mobile buzzed quietly against his leg, and his pulse quickened at the ID. _Finally._

"Harkness," he said quietly into the phone. His waitress paused at his table, refilled his sludgy cup of coffee, and moved on.

"You have a lot of nerve calling me, Jack." Annoyance traveled easily across the Pond. Jack could picture Yvonne Hartman at her desk in Langley, toes tapping in too-high heels as she scanned her monitor. Not paying attention to him.

"It's another Dickinson poem," he said. Calmly, he hoped. "Same type of wound."

Hartman sighed. She was probably massaging the bridge of her nose. "We all regret the death of Alex Hopkins. But every poetry-loving nutjob on the planet did not murder your partner."

Jack gritted his teeth. "It's her, Yvonne."

"And the cinema owners in Buenos Aires? The old man in Hospice in New York? The doctor's wife in Brussels? How many other deaths are you going to lay at her feet? These people are not connected, Jack. You have an actual job to do, you know. Here in Langley."

Jack's blood was beginning to boil. They were all the work of Suzie Costello. He _knew_ it. He just had to prove it. "I still have time off due me, Yvonne."

There was a pause. "You pig-headed man," she said finally. "Fine. Fine. You are on vacation –"

"They call it holiday over here."

"—you are on _vacation_ and in no way represent the Central Intelligence Agency of the United States. Is that clear?"

Jack smiled grimly into his phone. The door across the street was opening. "Crystal."

"Good." Hartman paused, and Jack could _hear_ her search for something appropriately pithy to say. "Alex wouldn't want you to waste time, Jack."

He stood, fished in his pocket for some coins to pay for his shitty coffee, and left the café, following the people who had exited from across the street. "Wasting time is one thing I am most certainly _not_ doing."

"Don't get yourself killed, Agent." She ended the call abruptly. _Probably went back to the blueprints for her corner office._ Jack shrugged the thought aside, and picked up the trail.

He followed them to a nondescript chain hotel. Five minutes of flirting with the concierge later, he was knocking on Toshiko Sato's door. When she opened the door, she blinked up at him, frowning slightly, until recognition dawned on her. "Agent Harkness! This is an unexpected surprise!" She opened the door wider and gestured him in.

Her young partner straightened up from the kitchenette's counter, where he'd been hastily putting their files back together. Jack caught not one glimpse of a crime scene photo. _Fast and cautious._ He nodded approvingly at the man. "Agent Jack Harkness," he said, extending his hand and flashing his toothiest of smiles.

"Ianto Jones," the other replied, unsmiling. Jack squeezed his hand tight, noting the long fingers and firm grip. And the tell-tale flash of gold on his left hand. 

Toshiko hovered anxiously during the introductions, and when Jack stepped back, she gave him a small hug. "What are you doing here, Jack?"

"I'm looking for someone. Unofficially," he added truthfully.

"How can I help?" Toshiko asked. He looked down at her. Toshiko Sato owed him her own life, and the life of her mother, and as such, she was one of the few people he trusted; one of the few who knew that he was not a pilot, barber, song-and-dance man, priest, horticulturalist, violinist, or any of a dozen other things he had claimed to be in the course of his career with the CIA. But he didn't know Ianto Jones from Adam.

Jones seemed to pick up on the vibe, and stood, clearing his throat. "I'll leave the two of you alone. I need to check in at the hospital." He placed a hand on Toshiko's shoulder. "Call me if you need anything."

He gave Jack one more measured look before heading to the door. Jack watched his ass. _Shame about the ring._ He turned back to Toshiko.

"You found another Emily Dickinson poem today. Am I right?"

 

Gwen

Gwen dropped her keys outside the door to her flat and stared blindly at them for a full minute before bending down and picking them up. It was 22:00, and she had left at 7:00 that morning. She stumbled into the flat, attempted to drop her keys into the bowl by the door, failed, and shuffled into the kitchen. Dinner was sitting in a casserole dish in the fridge – some kind of curry, lovingly prepared by Rhys. She started to shove it into her mouth cold as she made her way back into the living room.

Rhys was conked out on the settee, one foot off, mouth open and drooling. Gwen froze. He looked… the casserole cracked on the floor as she sprinted to the bathroom. She made it to the sink before vomiting up everything in her stomach.

_So that's what they meant in training,_ she thought dazedly. _Oh my God._

"Gwen? Gwen, love, you all right?" Rhys appeared in the doorway as she scrubbed a hand over her mouth. Rhys, upright and full of life. Not lying in an alley with a gaping chest wound. Her eyes met his in the bathroom mirror, and she gave a tremulous smile.

"Bit of a rough day," she got out.

Rhys frowned. "Bloody hell, Gwen, you just threw up. You want to tell me what's wrong?"

_I found the body of a man named Mark Brisco, and Rhys, sweetheart, he was dead. He was so fucking dead._

"I ate too fast," she lied. "Andy and I got put on pub duty, and I didn't have time to grab a bite to eat." 

If anything, the creases on Rhys's forehead deepened. He rolled his shoulders, working out the kinks from the settee. "Andy go pissing in a DI's tea to get you that?"

Gwen winced, and brushed by him to pick up the pieces of the casserole dish. "Wasn't Andy's fault," she muttered, fumbling with the broken glass. A large drop of blood bloomed on her finger. "Shit."

"Let me see that." Rhys crouched down beside her and kissed her finger. A little more blood followed, and he pressed his thumb against the wound and held her hand in his own. His hands were so big. 

"We found a body," she blurted suddenly. "And there's something weird about it. And I just… Rhys, we _found_ him. I want, I don't know, peace, for his family. I want to see this through."

She looked up at him finally. His mouth was slightly open in surprise, but his eyes gleamed. It was the "Gwen Cooper Can Do Anything" look. 

"So tell me what's stopping you," he said.

Her mouth quirked in a smile. "Oh, just police procedure. The chain of command. DI Swanson. Interpol."

"Little things." He smiled back, leaned forward and placed a kiss on her forehead. "I'll get a plaster."

She looked down at her finger as he shuffled off to the bathroom again. _Little things._ Maybe she had no authority to investigate the murder of Mark Brisco directly. But there were Interpol agents in Cardiff. _And why's that, Cooper? And why is Emily bloody Dickinson important?_

Rhys came back and applied the plaster, started talking about something else he could make for her dinner, Banana Boat's latest shenanigans, a rugby player crashing his car. She only half listened.

She would start with the little things. 

 

Jack

Jack glanced at his watch as he left Toshiko's room. _01:00_. He sighed and scrubbed a hand through his hair. Toshiko had been as helpful as she could be in good conscience, but she didn't have all the facts yet on Mark Brisco. There was, as yet, nothing to link him to the other murders, except for the presence of poetry and a similar weapon. It was nights like these that made him regret his decision to give up drinking.

Out of habit, he glanced into the hotel bar as he walked past. It was fairly empty, but for two tables of older businessmen, nursing their pints, and Toshiko's young partner at the bar, talking on his mobile and sipping a whisky. He had chucked his suit jacket and looked deliciously rumpled in his rolled sleeves and undone waistcoat. Jack smoothed the predatory smile from his face and slid into the seat next to him.

The bartender sidled over and raised a brow. "Just water for me, thanks, but my friend here will have another…"

"Glenfiddich," Jones supplied, snapping his mobile closed. He gave Jack a very neutral look as the bartender supplied their orders and moved away again. Jack raised his glass of water.

"To inter-agency cooperation," he said, eyes flicking down to take in Jones's long suit-clad legs and polished shoes, then back up to Jones's clear blue eyes, which had tightened slightly at Jack's gaze.

Jones clinked glasses wordlessly, and swallowed down half his whisky. "Did you have a nice conversation with Tosh?" he asked, putting the tumbler down carefully. Jack wondered what number whisky he was on.

"It's always a pleasure talking with Toshiko. I was surprised to see her in Cardiff," Jack replied, rubbing his thumb through the condensation on his glass.

"We go where the job takes us," Jones said. Even as trite as that sounded, it seemed like something he had needed to repeat many times.

"You must miss your family, though." Jack caught the wince Jones tried to hide. "That who you were calling?"

Jones tossed back the rest of his whisky. "What are you doing in Cardiff, Harkness?" 

Jack shrugged. "I came for the water."

Jones cracked a smile. _Finally_. He had a surprisingly sweet smile; it made him look even younger. "I'm sorry, Harkness, that was a trifle rude of me."

Jack smiled back – not his full grin, or his lascivious one, but warmly, and Jones shifted slightly on his stool. They were close enough now that their thighs just quite did not touch. "I'm looking for the woman who murdered my partner," Jack confided.

"And she likes poetry?" Jones asked.

"Yeah," Jack said, watching Jones as he tore at his bar napkin.

"And you just happened to be in Cardiff when she struck again?" Jones asked softly, and for the first time since he sat down, Jack was reminded of just who Jones was. He wasn't happy to see him; that actually was a gun in his pocket. 

"I thought she would be here," he said finally. Jones turned to face him completely, and now they were knee to knee. Jack could smell him, the whisky on his breath, the clean cotton of his shirt, a hint of expensive cologne – and ever so slightly, the faint whiff of hospital disinfectant.

"Why?" Jones asked, voice barely above a whisper.

Jack leaned forward, and Jones followed suit. "I think she's wrapping up," Jack said. He placed his hand lightly on Jones's knee. "I think she's coming home to die. Don't most people like to go home before they die?"

Jones jerked back and looked away, signaled the bartender over for one more whisky. "There is no indication whatsoever that Suzie Costello is suffering from a terminal illness," he said, his accent bleeding through especially strong. 

Jack narrowed his eyes. "True," he acknowledged. "But her reason for living is dying, here in Cardiff. So here is where she came, and here is where she'll stay."

Jones looked down at his whisky, absently tapping the side of the glass with his wedding ring. "And you're looking for our help… but unofficially."

"Right in one."

"Well." Jones downed his whisky and looked back at Jack. "It sounds to me like we're on the same side, Harkness."

Jack brought out his full grin. "Call me Jack."

 

Gwen

"Brilliant! Paperwork!" Gwen shrugged out of her coat and turned on the computer. Andy stared at her in horror over his own monitor.

"Gwen, you're lacking the appropriate level of sarcasm this morning." He tapped his ear and furrowed his brow at her. "It sounds to me like you are _actually_ happy to be updating the department's traffic incident database."

Gwen looked down at the messy stack of slips and scrawled notes on both their desks. "Just looking forward to a day off my feet," she said. That was certainly true.

Andy snorted and turned back to his own pile. "And tomorrow we'll have square bums and carpal tunnel," he muttered to himself.

Gwen grimaced. She'd have to buy Andy a round to apologize for getting him saddled with this. At the same time, computer time meant Emily Dickinson time. And as for the Interpol agents… she checked her lunch box. Fairy Cake a la Rhys Williams. Donna Noble, the morning shift's dispatcher, could not resist a good Fairy Cake, and she knew _everything_ that happened in the station. If DI Swanson was working with Interpol on a case, Donna would know. Gwen flexed her fingers, started a search on Emily Dickinson, and began entering the first of her stack. 

Two hours later, she was of the opinion that Emily Dickinson was unhealthily obsessed with death and immortality. She wished she had paid stricter attention to the subject of literary analysis in school, but it was not her particular strong suit. Bits of poems ran across her screen, quickly minimized at the approach of a fellow copper, until she realized that no one was paying her the slightest attention.

_I wonder if it hurts to live,  
And if they have to try,  
And whether, could they choose between,  
They would not rather die._

_\---_

_Good-by to the life I used to live,  
And the world I used to know;  
And kiss the hills for me, just once;  
Now I am ready to go!_

_\---_

_Because I could not stop for Death,  
He kindly stopped for me;  
The carriage held but just ourselves  
And Immortality. _

"Gwen? Break?" Andy was peering around his monitor again, a hopeful expression on his face.

"I'll catch up with you. Grab me a seat, yeah?" She gripped her Fairy Cake in one hand and fixed on her most charming smile as she approached Donna Noble at the dispatch desk. Donna fixated on the sweet immediately.

"Gwen Cooper! Looking to winkle something out of me, are you?" She stood, fist on hip, but there was a twinkle in her eye.

"I would never resort to bribery!" She placed the cake on the counter and leaned forward. "Strawberry sugar crystals," she whispered conspiratorially.

Donna looked down at the cake and stretched out a lacquered nail to touch a crystal. "We-ell. I already know what it is you're going to ask." She broke off a piece of the cake and chewed it slowly, an expression of bliss on her face. "All right. Those Interpol agents? They were closeted in with Swanson all afternoon. The bloke's only in his mid-twenties, I swear. Much too young to be carrying a gun. Traveling the world, hunting killers. Enforcing the law… with cuffs…" She trailed off for a moment, slack-jawed, and Gwen got an uncomfortable glimpse into the inner fantasy world of Donna Noble. "Anyway. They're looking for someone named Dickinson – " Gwen schooled her face to smoothness "—and there was a breakthrough on the murder weapon."

"There was?" she asked, leaning closer.

"Indeed there was, Cooper!" DI Swanson's sounded behind her, and Gwen jumped.

"Er –" she started.

"Forget it, Cooper. I knew you wouldn't let it go. You want to be helpful? I need to go to court." She gave Gwen a level look. "Dr. Harper has some very sensitive information for me. Go get it and meet me back here." She filched a piece of the cake off Donna's desk and swallowed it, already moving down the hall and out the door. "Just to me!" she called over her shoulder.

"Yes, ma'am!" Gwen called back. She and Donna looked at each other.

"Well. Looks like you got what you wanted," Donna said.

"Yeah," Gwen replied, beginning to smile.

"Be careful with that Dr. Harper," Donna warned her as she turned away. "He'll try to make a grab for your tits."

 

Jack

". . . and there really is no finer hospital in Wales for cosmetic surgery, I can assure you, Mr. Hart." The handsome young doctor flashed the smile of handsome young doctors the world over and held the door open for Jack. _Twit_. Jack stifled a wave of annoyance and bared his teeth in a smile of sorts as he walked into the office.

"That sounds fascinating, Dr. Patanjali, but I'm really not at Spire to inquire for myself," Jack said, settling gingerly onto the spare chair, an airy concoction indubitably provided to make perfectly healthy people feel the need for a tummy tuck. 

Dr. Patanjali plastered on a look of interest. "Oh?"

"You have a patient at your hospital; an old family friend. He's in very poor condition, but I would like to see him before I return home to Virginia," Jack lied smoothly.

Dr. Patanjali leaned back in his chair and steepled his fingers. _Trying to look older and wiser_. "We like to provide a little privacy for our guests, as you know, due to the, ah, nature of much of our surgeries," he said, essaying a half-smile.

"Mr. Costello is not here for cosmetic surgery."

"Mr. Costello, is it?" Dr. Patanjali frowned. "You know Max, of course."

_Who?_ "Of course." Jack gave him a reassuring smile.

"Well, then." The doctor's face cleared, and he rose to his feet. "I'll let you go talk to Max, Mr. Hart. He's a most attentive bodyguard. Room 456."

Jack took out his mobile in the stairwell, hesitated for a moment over the numbers, and called Jones. He answered straight away. "Jones."

"It's Jack. Listen –"

***

"So that man in there is why Suzie Costello came back to Cardiff, you think?" Jones craned his neck around the corner. Max the Bodyguard overflowed his little chair outside Costello's room on the fourth floor.

"Yup," Jack confirmed. "Thought you might want in on a chat with him."

They both leaned back against the wall around the corner. Jones raised a skeptical brow. "Is Mr. Costello able to talk at all?"

"I hope so. I wasn't counting on a bodyguard," Jack admitted. "The question is …"

"Did _he_ hire a bodyguard," Jones completed his thought, "or did Suzie, to keep him alive until she's – what? Finished the spree you think she's on?"

Jack stiffened. "You agree you're on the trail of a serial killer here."

Jones nodded. "Yes. It's just – you have to admit the motivation is off. There's no connection between the victims."

Jack shook his head. "Yes there is. We're just missing it!" His voice rose higher, and Jones looked round the corner quickly to make sure Max had not noticed. Jack sighed. "So what are you thinking then, Mr. International Police? We shouldn't talk to Max at all?"

Jones pushed himself off the wall, and Jack noted how his coat bulged around his gun. Jack had his own gun in an ankle holster and CIA clearance, somewhat fudged for his "vacation," strapped to his calf, and he allowed himself to contemplate for a moment teaching Jones how best to conceal a weapon.

" _I_ want to run a check on this Max before we go in," Jones said, and took off down the hall. "Come on."

Jack paused, slightly taken aback, and watched him for a moment, before rolling his shoulders and following. Their strides matched as they neared the stairs. Jones led him out of the hospital and to his SUV. "I can access our database from here," Jones muttered, pulling his PDA from his pocket and punching in codes, before hooking the device into a kind of cradle between them and settling back in his seat. Jack climbed in beside him and pulled the door closed.

They sat in silence but for the soft pinging of the search engine in the background. Jack contemplated the other man. Ianto Jones was turned out immaculately in a three piece suit. Every hair was in place, his fingernails were trim and tidy, his shoes well polished. But Jack could see a slight redness around the eyes, more than could be accounted for by the three whiskys he'd drunk the night before, and Jones was worrying his lower lip between his teeth. He shook his head to clear it of the daydream of reaching out and taking that lower lip between his own teeth, and turned his mind instead to the why. Five years of working with a moody man like Alex Hopkins had taught him he had better pay attention to his partner.

"Last night, when I first met you," he began, opting for the direct approach, "you told Toshiko you needed to check in at the hospital. You didn't mean this hospital. So what's your deal, Ianto Jones?"

Jones leaned over his machine. "Max doesn't have a record in the UK," he said.

"I bet he's a saint," Jack said sharply. "Quit avoiding the question. What are you hiding?"

Jones sighed and leaned back in the seat. "It's personal, Jack. Trust me, it has nothing to do with this case."

"And it's… not a distraction at all, is that right? You're not going to, say, duck out of hospitals to run a search you could easily do on your PDA, just so you could leave the hospital where, I might add, our only solid lead on this case is slipping closer and closer into the realm of brain-dead vegetable?"

Jones flushed and looked away. "You fucking prick," he muttered, more in despair than anger. "You don't know –" He paused, and took a deep breath. "Don't call him a vegetable."

Jack leaned forward. He was much too close, crowding Jones' space, but he didn't care. He could see each individual eyelash, the beads of sweat on the other man's forehead. "Why not?"

"My wife is brain-dead." It came out in a whisper, but Jack still flinched. _Shit. SHIT._

"I'm sorry," he said, the automatic, woefully inadequate knee-jerk response.

Jones smiled humorlessly. "You didn't do it."

"No, but I… do you need to… why did you come to Cardiff, then?" As soon as he asked, he wished he could stuff the words back into his mouth. _Tact, Harkness. Show a little fucking tact._

Jones's eyes flashed. "How could I leave her side, do you mean?" He looked, unseeing, out the window, his jaw tightening. "Lisa doesn't react. You know how they say people in comas will react to their loved ones' voices? Maybe some do. Lisa does not. She also… there's a blood clot, they keep operating on it, and it keeps coming back. It's going to kill her. Maybe tomorrow, maybe one hour from now, maybe in five years. Lisa would… she would be furious with me." His voice was so soft now, Jack had to strain to hear. "If she thought I was trapped at her side. If she knew she was trapped. But I can't …" His voice trailed off.

Jack held his breath, then slowly reached out and laid his hand on the other man's knee. "Is there anything I can do for you, Jones?"

Jones looked down at the hand on his knee, and Jack hastily withdrew it. "Let's just find Suzie Costello as quickly as possible."

Jack nodded, and reached over to open the door. "Right. Let's go talk to Saint Max, then, Jones."

Jones crawled out behind him. "Jack? You could call me Ianto, you know."

Jack allowed himself a small smile. _Ianto, then._

 

Gwen

"—then you can share with me! Until then, Ms. I-Need-to-Know-Everything, I'm not telling you nothing!"

The tinny voice floated down the hall to her, carried by the building's pipes, and Gwen couldn't catch the response. She picked up her pace regardless and wrenched open the door to Dr. Harper's autopsy bay. The female Interpol agent was with Harper, scowling at him over the body of Mark Brisco. They both turned at Gwen's entrance.

"Oi! You can't come in here dressed like that! Out! Out!" Dr. Harper brandished his finger at her, and Gwen glanced down at her uniform, taken aback. The other two were wearing little gown coveralls and haircaps and masks. "Sorry," she muttered.

She ducked back outside and hurriedly donned her own blue outfit before re-entering.

"Oi! Did I _say_ you could come in?" Harper scowled at her over his mask, and Gwen dug her heels in.

"Ignore him, PC Cooper. DI Swanson phoned ahead." The Interpol agent stepped forward, holding out her hand. "Toshiko Sato, Interpol. It's nice to see you again," she said, conveniently brushing aside that they had not really met. Gwen shook her hand gladly before turning to Dr. Harper.

"We haven't met yet. PC Gwen Cooper." Harper barely touched his own latex fingers to hers before turning back to the body.

"Anyone else you want to invite over? He's a fascinating corpse; you could all have a go."

Gwen gave him a placating smile, then realized it was a moot point with her mask on. "Dr. Harper," she tried instead, "DI Swanson told me you had some very sensitive information? I won't lay one finger on the corpse," she promised solemnly, inwardly shuddering at the idea of cutting open Mark Brisco's body. His skin had been cleaned of the mud and filth of the alley, but he was still a gray, bloated corpse.

Harper snorted loudly. Gwen hoped he choked on his own spit. "Of course you won't lay one finger on the corpse! You're a fucking copper, not a pathologist." She stiffened her knees as he took a step towards her. "And as for sensitive information, maybe I have something, maybe I don't. If your friends at Interpol would _share_ – "

"I've already told you, Dr. Harper," Toshiko interjected, crossing her arms, "I will tell you as much as you need to know. There are regulations here, and the Cardiff police have already agreed to cooperate. They're here now, so if you would be so kind – " And she gestured angrily at the body.

Gwen looked back and forth between the two of them. Finally Harper spat out a "Fine." He pulled down the sheet and indicated the hole in Mark Brisco's chest. "Look here." Gwen and Toshiko both peered at the jagged opening. "See, it was made by a serrated edge. Is that consistent with your other murders?" he asked Toshiko.

She shook her head. "No. Each wound has been different, no two weapons the same, which has made it difficult to tie them all together."

Harper raised a brow. "You sure about that? Look." Gwen exchanged a startled glance with Toshiko, then both women leaned closer. Gwen was profoundly glad for the face mask to prevent at least a small bit of the disinfectant smell from reaching her. "See, right there?" Harper continued, pointing to the tiniest dot on one of Mark Brisco's ribs. "That was made by a needle, at the time of death, as far as I can tell. Maybe your weapons aren't the same, but tell me, Agent Sato Ma'am," and he rocked back on his heels, "do you have needle punctures?"

Gwen met Toshiko's eyes. She could tell the other woman didn't know the answer. Yet. "Thank you for your help, Dr. Harper," Toshiko stated, rather formally. "It's possible we'll want to confer with you further on this case."

Harper hitched his shoulders irritably. "I bet you will."

"Why would she do that? The killer, I mean?" Gwen asked, staving off another argument. "What would she get from the bone – marrow, right?"

The other two stared at her, and she winced. She'd called the killer "she," meaning "Emily Dickinson," which was obviously not so. "Um, why would the killer puncture a bone?" she backtracked.

Toshiko was still watching her consideringly, but it was Harper who answered. "How the fuck would I know? You lot deal with motivations." He picked up an envelope from a side table. "Here," he said, handing it to Gwen, "photos for your DI Swanson. Can't say I never did nothing for you."

Gwen took it with a mumbled thanks as Toshiko's mobile went off. She turned her back on them to answer, and Harper moved in a little closer. Gwen could smell his aftershave, strangely sweet overlaying the tang of disinfectant and chemicals. She wished she could see if his mouth was smirking. Her mobile vibrated under the little gown, and she smirked to herself, stepping away from Harper to answer.

"What the hell, Gwen? Exactly how long was I supposed to hold a seat for you, yeah?" 

Gwen flinched. She had completely forgotten about Andy. "Andy, I'm so sorry, but DI Swanson had me do something for her –"

"Swanson? Bzzzzzz. Try again."

"She _did_ Andy, promise," she whispered back. She could feel Harper's eyes on the back of her neck. "She was going to court."

"Well, she didn't stay there," Andy shot back. "Smith was over there, and he just told me the DI left right before testifying and tore off in the opposite direction."

Gwen blinked. "That doesn't make sense." 

Toshiko entered her field of vision. "We need to leave NOW, PC Cooper."

Gwen frowned into the phone. "I'm sorry Andy, I'll have to call you back." She clicked it closed without waiting for a response – _make that three rounds you owe him, Cooper_ – and looked over at Toshiko.

"Our killer's been spotted."

 

Jack

Ianto got the call when they were still in the stairwell leading up to Room 456. Jack started at the touch of the other man's fingers on his arm, but Ianto's white face stopped him from making one of a half dozen quips that flew to his mind.

"Woman matching Suzie's description has been spotted over on Brynheulog," Ianto hissed, mobile pressed to his ear. Jack turned and practically flew down the stairs, Ianto fast on his heels.

"You know where that is, right?" he threw over his shoulder as his feet slammed onto the final landing.

"It's very close." Ianto caught up to him as they ran out of the hospital. "It's mainly residential; there's a school of some kind there."

Jack jumped into the passenger side of the SUV and willed Ianto to drive faster. His heart thudded painfully in his chest. His mind's eye was filled with Alex's face, the last time he'd seen him alive. Alex, of the incredibly dry wit, morose little smile and overwhelming sense of duty. Alex had been _serious_ about being an Agent, he'd been one of the best, and Suzie Costello had cut him down. Jack flexed his fingers, reached down and drew his gun. Ianto glanced down at it, but all he said was "Hang on," as they skidded around a curve.

"Look out!" Jack yelled. A nondescript sedan was broken down right in front of them. Ianto swerved hard, crossing the line and slamming the brakes, stopping a finger's breadth before plowing into someone's back garden. Jack grabbed his hand as he began shifting into reverse. "Wait." He stared at the sedan. "I don't think –"

A tiny *ping* sounded behind them, followed by a crash as the glass in the back seat's window shattered.

"Fuck!" Jack swore, kicking open his car door. "Come on!" He reached behind him, pulling Ianto along. Ianto looked a mite dazed, and Jack spared a fleeting thought to wonder how many times the younger man had been in a shootout. He made a silent vow that Ianto would live to be stoic in his next one. He crouched low, and pulled Ianto behind the front tire with him.

"She's behind that brown fence," Ianto whispered, holding his own gun steady. Jack blinked once at his hands, then focused on the fence.

"It's too high," he decided, "and depending on what's on the other side, a bullet's not going to reach her. We have to get closer. Follow my lead."

He took a deep breath and cautiously peered around the front of the SUV. The brown fence was about six feet tall, and added to the slight ditch they were in, all he could make out above the fence was one scraggly tree and a clothesline. Ianto touched his shoulder, and Jack turned, almost knocking foreheads. Jack could smell coffee and mouthwash on Ianto's breath as he whispered, "Reinforcements are coming. I've texted our position."

Jack shook his head. "No. That's Suzie Costello in there, _this close_ to the hospital. We are running out of time and I **will not wait**." He knew his voice was harsh, but he couldn't help it. Ianto hesitated for a moment, and Jack felt his throat constrict.

"All right," he said finally.

Jack grinned fiercely, a feral baring of the teeth, nothing more. "I'm going through the fence. You stay outside the fence in case she slips out. Tell those reinforcements to come from the front." He didn't wait for agreement before sprinting for the door in the fence. Ianto swore behind him before taking off, and he could hear the other man's footfalls squeaking in the dewy grass as he slowly drew open the door, gun in first, then the rest of him.

His eyes and ears were on full alert. He could feel his heartbeat pounding out the rhythm _Suzie, Suzie, Suzie_. It was almost noon, and the sun was fighting hard against the last of the morning haze, brief patches slightly obscuring his vision as he looked first to the right, then the left. A slight thump against the fence reminded him of Ianto's presence. _Give us something to hunt, Sweet Sue._ His fingers tightened around his gun, aching to pull the trigger. _Give me your death._

The faintest of breezes stirred the clothesline, and behind it… "Left!" he hissed through the fence, and took off. A flash of wool behind a child's swingset, Suzie's low derisive laughter chasing out the sound of Ianto on the other side of the fence and the sound of his own blood pumping through his veins, and then she came to the low wall between the two back gardens. She turned, and he moved to the right as if following a divine directive, her bullet just missing him. He took aim and fired as she scrambled to climb the wall. He clipped her ankle and she fell heavily to the other side.

"Ianto! Get in here!" he yelled, exuberant. _So close. SO CLOSE._ He ran to the wall, dodging another bullet. He could hear Ianto swear in the next garden as Suzie fired at him, too. Jack's blood momentarily froze. _Surely she hadn't…_

He threw himself at the wall, hauling himself over in time to see Suzie take off at a listing run, Ianto fast on her heels. Jack hopped to the ground as they rounded the front of the house. He slipped in the dew and blood before gaining traction. He had taken but three steps when a gunshot rang out once more, followed by a quick smattering of gun fire and the squealing of tires.

Jack skidded to a halt at the front of the house. A Cardiff police car was disappearing around the corner. Ianto knelt in the grass, blood welling up between his hands, pressed to the neck of the DI Jack had seen at the murder scene just yesterday. His lips were moving, reassuring the injured woman or calling for help, Jack could not tell. All he could see was that Suzie was no longer there.

He turned away. Sirens sounded in the distance, coming ever closer, but his head was filled with the sound of Suzie's name and the memory of her derisive laughter.

 

Gwen

"Dr. Eugene Jones, to the Paediatric Ward. Dr. Eugene Jones to Paediatrics. Thank you."

Gwen took a sip of her watery hospital coffee and glanced around the waiting room. Tosh's partner was in the corridor with another tall man, arguing. Gwen wasn't sure what his role was, but he sounded American and he'd definitely been trying to order around Cardiff police earlier. Gwen frowned and looked into her coffee. He also had a gun. She took another hesitant sip and made a face. _Cold weak coffee and envy. Lovely mix._

A nurse she was rather friendly with went bustling by, and Gwen sat up straighter, fingers clenching around the envelope she had promised to give to DI Swanson. The nurse shook her head as she rushed past. "I'm not on it," she mouthed, and gave a sympathetic smile. 

Gwen slumped back down into her chair and looked back at the corridor. The American had his finger in the Welsh boy's face. She could hear them throwing out "manhunt" and "fault" and possibly "insensitive bastard" if she strained her ears.

Tosh slid into the seat next to hers. "I've just got permission to let Dr. Harper in on the case," she announced. "There are several murders that we may be able to link now from that needle prick. Some hard copy files are being scanned in, and we should be able to go over everything by 8:00 tomorrow!"

Gwen nodded, heart pounding. "Who will you be liaising with on my end?" she asked cautiously.

Tosh chewed her lower lip. "Do you want some tea?" she asked finally. "We can get some that's not from a machine downstairs." Gwen hesitated, and Tosh added, "Ianto will call if there's news." Tosh rose to her feet and led the way, and Gwen quickly chucked her cold coffee into a bin before following. 

"Who is… Ianto… talking to? Do you mind my asking?" she asked as they entered the stairwell.

Tosh grimaced. "You mean arguing? That's Jack Harkness."

Gwen opened her mouth to ask more, but Tosh laid a hand on her arm. "I'll tell you a bit more over tea."

Half an hour later, Gwen laid her hand flat on the pressed-wood table of the hospital tearoom and took a breath, her head reeling. She knew Tosh had not felt at liberty to tell her _everything_ , but what she _had_ said painted a rather fantastical picture. A woman named Suzie Costello was murdering people, seemingly at random, all over the world. One of those people had been a CIA Agent, Jack Harkness's partner. With each murder, she left a nod to Emily Dickinson. The big question remained _why_. Why these particular people, and why Emily Dickinson? And now, why insert a needle into their bones? Was she taking something (probably), or putting something there (not very probable).

"And Jack thinks she's after her father, here in this hospital?" Gwen asked incredulously. 

Tosh nodded and sipped at her tea. "One of the reasons we requested additional police presence here."

"Spire's a private hospital. They could shut down completely, as a trap for Suzie!" Gwen leaned forward, fingers white around her mug handle. 

Tosh shrugged noncommittally. "Private, yes. But it would be incredibly obvious if we were to evacuate the building."

Gwen sat back and began to tap out a rhythm on the table. "DI Carter will probably be assigned this case now," she said, abruptly changing the subject. "He's… pleasant."

Tosh arched a brow at her. "Pleasant."

She nodded. "Gerald Carter is good police. He wants to protect people."

Tosh smiled. "He's an arrogant wanker who always thinks he's right, you mean."

"Indeed." Gwen smiled back.

"We have them, too." Tosh wrapped her fingers around her mug and furrowed her brow at the contents. "Come to the briefing tomorrow morning regardless."

"Thank you." Gwen bit her lip. "What's Interpol like?" she asked in a rush.

Tosh didn't hesitate. "It's amazing. The places I've seen, the people I've met… we have our arrogant wankers, and there's a lot of bureaucracy to shift through, and sometimes I want to scream at the people who can't believe that _I_ am the one giving the orders – but when you're on the trail of a criminal, Gwen, and you can feel the noose tightening around them, and it's your skill and brains against theirs… it's worth it."

Gwen met her shining eyes and lifted her mug. "Here's to catching Suzie Costello."

Tosh raised her own mug, and clinked Gwen's. "We will."

 

Jack

_"Auld lang syne, old chap." Alex leaned on the doorjamb, the answer to the question 'what's wrong with this picture?' His cheap paper party hat was tilted at a comical angle, the bright orange and red an incongruous burst of brightness to frame his dour face._

_Jack glanced out the window. Tokyo was ablaze with color and explosions, the noise of the new year reaching even them, high on the 37th floor. "You getting sentimental in your old age? And what's with the phony accent?" Jack picked up his beer and took a long swallow. "You know you can't pass for a Scotsman."_

_Alex shrugged. "Just trying out a new character." He scooped up the binoculars, and peered at the skyscraper across from them. Jack's lips twitched in a smile. They had a table full of high-tech spy gadgetry, so of course Alex chose the old-fashioned and clunky tool._

_"Jack," Alex breathed. "They're getting ready."_

_Jack hurriedly downed the rest of his beer, and Alex tried not to look disapproving. "Ready, Mr. Tyler?" Alex asked, snapping off his party hat._

_Jack offered his arm and affected a French accent. "If you are, Mr. Smith."_

"Mr. Harkness? Excuse me, Mr. Harkness?"

Jack turned from his contemplation of the wall and blinked blearily at the young nurse, shaking off the past. She essayed what she probably thought was a calming smile and said, "Agent Sato asked me to get you? Dr. Manger would like to brief you?" 

Jack nodded and gestured for her to lead the way. Ianto was conferring with Toshiko in the private waiting area. Toshiko looked up and gave him a half-smile, but Ianto ignored him. Jack set to ignoring him as well, and focused on the pretty young copper. She was still clutching the envelope he had seen her holding earlier, one corner all dog-eared now. Jack sat next to her, and flashed his "charming, but subdued because of the circumstances" smile. She answered with a "charmed, in spite of myself" smile of her own. 

"Hrmmmm," Dr. Manger began, "ah. Yes. The Detective Inspector." He surveyed them all with a rather dead-eyed stare. "I am of the opinion that the Detective Inspector will recover, eventually, as the bullet …"

Jack stopped listening. Swanson would recover. That was one Suzie wouldn't get. And Ianto had no cause to shoot him death glares, now that he was no longer being insensitive. He itched to be gone, to be a part of the massive manhunt for Suzie instead of stymied at this hospital, tied down by the force of a cool blue gaze. 

He risked a glance at Ianto now. The other man was nodding in interest to Manger's droning list of cautions. His long fingers gripped a biro tightly as he scrawled notes into a tiny notebook. The very tip of Ianto's tongue poked out between his lips, and Jack had to stifle the urge to go to him and suck on that tongue. He mentally berated himself for being such a slave to his libido, and gripped his forearms tight in his hands.

Ianto suddenly froze in his henscratchings and looked down at his mobile vibrating on his hip. Dr. Manger began to wrap up his dry recitation as Ianto slipped outside the room, face even whiter than usual. The doctor didn't look up, and Jack willed him to finish already. He glanced over at Toshiko, frowning at the door.

"…or suppurations," Dr. Manger finished, and Jack's head snapped back to him.

"Thank you, Dr. Manger, for that enlightening discourse." Jack strode forward and shook the man's hand. Toshiko shot him a grateful look as she also slipped out the door, looking for Ianto.

Dr. Manger dry-coughed into his hand. "Well, I'm pleased some of you could stay and pay attention to my expertise." He swept from the room with a loud sniff.

"Rude old goat, isn't he?" The copper whispered to him as the door shut.

Jack turned to her and brought out his megawatt grin. "He is at that. Jack Harkness. I don't believe we've been officially introduced."

"PC Gwen Cooper," she said with a crooked little smile. Her hand was small and warm, and her hair smelled of coconut. Jack breathed it in with a smile. The door opened, and he turned, lips parted to ask Ianto what the hell he thought he was doing, leaving a briefing, but it was Toshiko. She looked a little red around the eyes.

"Right," she said, closing the door. "I think we should finalize a monitoring schedule for DI Swanson and Mr. Costello, and –"

"That's great, Toshiko," Jack interrupted her, "but shouldn't we wait for Ianto?"

She took a deep breath. "He won't be back tonight. But, Jack," she hurriedly continued, "I think we finally have some new information on the murder weapon."

His heart began to race as Gwen nodded enthusiastically. The two women went back and forth on needles and bones, and he followed along as best he could. Things were finally coming to a head on his hunt for Suzie, but when he looked down at the pictures Gwen was still carrying, his mind kept returning to Ianto in the SUV, staring out the window, or Ianto at the bar, tapping his wedding band against his glass. 

"… and I really think that if we all put our heads together tomorrow morning, we can really narrow down what Suzie is after!" Toshiko finished, and Jack looked up guiltily.

"Yes," he agreed. "Right, tomorrow morning. I'll bring my files to police headquarters then." He glanced surreptitiously at his watch. Ianto had left an hour ago. "I'm going to just double-check on things here and turn in for the night. Need to rest up."

Both women nodded vaguely to him as he made his farewells, Gwen already posing a theory on Emily Dickinson, as he closed the door behind him. He checked on the coppers outside DI Swanson's door, and Max's reinforcements, before leaving the hospital. Max himself was hunched, rock-like, in the same position Jack had first seen him, just that morning. He made a mental note to get in to see Mr. Costello no matter what the next day.

Outside the hospital he paused for a moment, debating, before calling a cab to take him to his seedy little motel. Once inside his room, he dug his files out from under a loose floorboard and tried to concentrate on the autopsy reports. The clinical descriptions kept blurring before his eyes, and after a couple of hours, he had to give it up as a bad job. There was only one place he wanted to be. He shoved the files into a carryall and exited the motel.

***

"Ianto? Come on, open the door." Jack leaned his forehead against the door, as if by pressing so close to it, he would suddenly be able to see through the compressed wood. "Ianto?" he called again. 

The door was abruptly yanked open, and Jack took a stumbling step inside before Ianto grabbed him roughly by his greatcoat and righted him. "Thanks," Jack muttered, and attempted to recover his usual aplomb. Ianto turned his back and shambled away.

Jack squinted into the dim lighting. The room was a mess, an overflowing suitcase taking up the dinette table, precarious stacks of files teetering on both chairs, shoes strewn haphazardly in the middle of the floor, the wardrobe doors wide open (Jack could see two more suits hanging inside, and he breathed an inadvertent sigh of relief that those, at least, reflected Ianto's usually well-ordered mind), and the contents of the minibar leaving sticky stains across the nightstand.

Ianto sat heavily on the bed. "What do you want, Jack?" he mumbled, fingers clumsily moving through the selection of remaining bottles before deciding on the tequila.

"Nothing to drink for me, thanks," he responded airily, and kicked himself when Ianto just gave him a flat stare. _Time and place, Jack._ "I … wanted to apologize," he said slowly, "for being a little rude at the hospital." He sat himself gingerly down on the foot of the bed. Ianto made no move to shove him off; just continued drinking from his bottle. Jack frowned. Something about the image bothered him, but he couldn't place it. "It wasn't your fault Suzie got away," he continued, "and I did not mean to imply it." He paused, waiting for Ianto to chime in, maybe apologize too, but the other man seemed dead-set on getting as drunk as possible and ignoring all else. "Toshiko told me you got a call about your family."

Ianto looked out into the corner of the room, as far from Jack as he could, and his fingers trembled on the bottle. Jack stifled a curse when it finally clicked what was off. Ianto's left hand plucked at the duvet, pinching and smoothing and roaming restlessly. He was not wearing the gold wedding band.

"Ianto," Jack whispered.

"Stop. Just … stop," Ianto said thickly.

An icy hand clenched around Jack's heart, and he rose abruptly to his feet, stumbling a couple of steps before kneeling at Ianto's feet, and gently tugged off his shoes and socks. The tequila bottle was empty now, and Jack twisted it out of Ianto's grasp. He toed off his own shoes and reached over to the lamp on the nightstand, the only source of light in the room. He met Ianto's eyes briefly before he flicked the switch. Jack knew that broken look. He'd had it before, himself. The lights went out.

Jack made his way over to the other side of the bed and finally shrugged out of his greatcoat. He stretched out on the bed and reached out for Ianto. Ianto let out a whimpering little moan as Jack helped him lay down, and then threw his greatcoat over the both of them. Jack said nothing, but lifted Ianto's clammy right hand in both of his and finally Ianto started to cry. He moved under the coat, so that both of his bare hands were engulfed by Jack's, buried his face in Jack's shoulder, and let out a shuddering, keening sob. 

There's a sound that grief makes that can only be offered up in the darkness. Light dilutes it, makes it something that a well-placed platitude will wrestle with until the grief gives in and carries on with the business of living. But in the darkness, with no eyes to see, grief can be its raw self, full of regret, recrimination, devastation, abandonment, anger, hatred, fear, remorse, pain, and piercing love.

Jack held Ianto close and let the tide flow over them. Ghosts manifested in the darkness. Alex. Mark Brisco from the alley. Emily Holroyd, who'd trained him. His parents. Suzie's other victims. A beautiful young woman who came right up to the edge of the bed and laid a ghostly hand on Ianto's ankle. _Lisa_. Jack stared at her, though he knew he could not really be seeing her. She smiled at him, laid a finger to her lips, and walked away. The rest of the ghosts faded into mists then nothingness behind her.

Jack closed his eyes and tightened his grip.

 

Gwen

Gwen stared at the gloved hands of Mickey Mouse cheerily pointing to the time on Rhys's alarm clock. 3:00 a.m. She had not slept one wink. With a sigh she flopped over onto her back. Contemplating the ceiling instead of Mickey did not help. Rhys let out a coo in his sleep (something of which she teased him about unmercilessly, and of which he did not believe he ever did) and her heart ached. Toshiko had told her, as they were finally leaving the hospital very late, that her young partner's wife had passed earlier that evening. At first Gwen hadn't registered what she meant ( _passed on information, perhaps?_ ), but then it hit her. She reached over and squeezed Rhys's hand, and he cooed again. She could not imagine what she would do without Rhys there, taking up three-quarters of the bed and cooing in his sleep. 

A quiet buzz came from her nightstand, and Gwen released Rhys's hand to fumble for her mobile. Text message from Andy: _u up?_ Gwen glanced over her shoulder at Rhys, slack-jawed and breathing deeply, and texted her response. _Y. Call me? 2 min._

She rolled out of bed, threw Rhys's bathrobe over her shoulders, and brought her mobile out into the living room. Her investigation notes for the 8:00 meeting were all packed up in an accordion file by the front door. She had grabbed it and made herself comfortable in her favorite armchair by the window when her mobile buzzed again.

"Hey, Andy."

"You've been a busy bee."

Gwen tapped her finger on the spine of her file and sighed. "I'm sorry I wasn't there for you today, Andy." 

There was a pause. "'s all right," Andy said finally. "Got pulled off the database before my arse became a brick."

Gwen barked a laugh. "That's good."

There was another pause, and Gwen could hear Andy fiddling with a bottle cap. She could picture him sitting at the rickety cheap-pine table in his badly-lit kitchen, drinking a bottle of ice-cold Brains and drawing cartoons in the ice on the bottle. "I went to see Mark Brisco's widow today."

Gwen's fingers froze on the file. "You did what?"

"Well, you missed it, but after Swanson was shot, the Chief Constable gave the case to that supercilious prick, Carter – " Gwen raised her eyebrows; Andy only broke out big words like 'supercilious' when he was especially upset "– and he wanted to get a _feel_ for the case." Andy snorted softly. "I was supposed to stay in the car."

"What happened?" Gwen asked. The line cackled for a moment, and she pictured Andy shifting in his plastic dining room chair.

"The widow lost it. Completely wigged out. Accused Cardiff police of having our heads up our arses. Began hyperventilating. I could hear her all the way out in the car!"

Gwen smiled, her eyes roaming the framed pictures on the window sill. "And you saved the day?" she teased gently.

"Oi! Nothing beats a cuppa from PC Andy Davidson!"

"Mmmm. True." She focused on a photo of her and Rhys, eating ice cream on Mermaid Quay, and absently ran her fingers over the glass, dislodging dust.

"Anyway. She calmed down a bit after that. She was, ah, dammit…"

Gwen sat up straight at the tone of Andy's voice. Every cop knew that tone. "Andy. You did what you could. We're going to find the killer. I _promise_. I can feel it!"

"Yeah." His voice was a little gruffer now, and she wished they were in the same flat, in the same room, so she could reach out and touch him. "Yeah," he said again. "After all, it's not just up to Carter, yeah?"

"Right!" she exclaimed. 

Andy sighed, and she could hear the harsh scraping of his chair as he pushed back from the table and crossed the kitchen. "I guess when your number's up, your number's up, eh, Gwen?" She could hear the sound of running water, Andy following his usual routine – rinse out the finished bottle, place in the recycling bin, before grabbing a new one.

"That's rather fatalistic of you, Andy." She frowned into the phone.

Andy snorted. "Yeah, sorry 'bout that. The Briscos' neighbor accosted me when Carter sent me back out to the car – you remember that accident on the M4 two weeks ago? With the meat-packing lorry and the passenger car? Mark Brisco was supposed to be in that car. Going to Newport for some sort of business meeting. But he got the sniffles, and his business partner went without him. Partner died, lorry driver died, and he would have died, most like. Weird, huh?"

Gwen tapped on the file again. It _was_ weird. And it was just the type of thing DI Carter would ignore, citing coincidence and lack of proof. She scribbled a note to herself to check out the accident report tomorrow morning.

"Gwen? You still there?"

"Oh, yes, sorry, Andy! Yeah, that's weird." She paused suddenly. "Why'd she tell you?"

"The neighbor? _He_ probably told me because I'm a man of the people, don't you know? People see my charming mug and they want to spill their guts."

Gwen slouched back comfortably in her armchair again. "Oh is that why Donna was telling you about her last trip to the Doctor's–"

"Stop! Stop right there!"

Gwen laughed. "She's very sweet, Andy."

"She's a hypochondriac, Gwen. But even she can't resist my friendly neighborhood copper self. I'm cursed."

Gwen couldn't deny it. Andy just had that combination of friendliness and authority figure that made people want to – she sat up suddenly. "Andy, you're right!"

"About my curse? Because I'd prefer the 'beautiful women losing their clothes around me' curse, instead."

She rolled her eyes. "No, I mean – people tell you things."

"Well, I _am_ a copper –"

"They tell you personal things. About themselves, and about their neighbors!" she interrupted.

"Yes, I'm a font of gossip. Have I told you about the bloke who owns the Tesco's over on–" 

"It's a stretch, Andy. It's a big stretch. But how else–?"

"Gwen, what the hell are you on about?"

She took a breath. "I have an idea. Look, I need to check a few things. I'll see you tomorrow, okay? We can talk about this more then, yeah?"

He paused. "Yeah. I mean, it's late. I should hit the sack."

"Yeah." She started to pull things from the accordion file. "Hey, Andy? I'm sorry Carter's a prick."

She could feel his smile in his voice. "Right you are. See you tomorrow, then."

"Good night." 

She snapped the mobile shut and looked at her haphazard notes. They didn't know how Suzie was choosing her victims. That's what Tosh had told her. But what if Suzie didn't have to look? What if they found her? She chewed on her lower lip, and began to scribble down a list of professions that typically were confided in: law enforcement, doctors, reporters, vicars and such. And of those… she circled 'reporters.' Reporters traveled everywhere, busybody neighbors would dish dirt to them, and they wouldn't be expected to have the kind of specific knowledge a vicar or doctor would have. It was just a hunch. But she felt _good_ about it. 

She flipped back to her post-it about Mark Brisco's near-accident. It _was_ intriguing. And maybe tomorrow they could figure out if any of the other victims had been involved in near-death experiences. 

She shoved her notes back into the file, and as she did so, one of her printed-out Emily Dickinson poems caught her eye:

_Each life converges to some centre  
Expressed or still;  
Exists in every human nature  
A goal,_

_Admitted scarcely to itself, it may be,  
Too fair  
For credibility's temerity  
To dare._

_Adored with caution, as a brittle heaven,  
To reach  
Were hopeless as the rainbow's raiment  
To touch,_

_Yet persevered toward, surer for the distance;  
How high  
Unto the saints' slow diligence  
The sky!_

_Ungained, it may be, by a life's low venture,  
But then,  
Eternity enables the endeavoring  
Again._

There was something there. Maybe. Connected to the near-death experiences. And maybe she couldn't see it herself, but someone else would. She yawned and stretched. Tomorrow would bring the briefing, and she was suddenly optimistic that all their heads together could start to make sense of this mess.

 

Jack

Jack sipped at his coffee and gave Ianto a smile of thanks. Ianto dropped into the chair beside him with a wordless grunt. Jack eyed him over the top of his mug as the others began to file into the room: Toshiko with PC Gwen, a wiry looking man in a white doctor's jacket, and a new Detective Inspector. Ianto was looking on the bedraggled side, no doubt about it. 

Jack had awoken that morning with a quite painful hard-on and his arms still wrapped tightly around the other man, Ianto's warm breath tickling his neck. Ianto had been embarrassed to find himself in Jack's arms when he woke up, and neither man had said much of anything all morning. Jack kept expecting Ianto to head back to London, but he hadn't yet. He'd showered, put his ring back on, loaded his gun and had silently driven them both to Police Headquarters. Jack sipped his coffee, and waited for the other shoe to drop.

Toshiko sat down on the other side of Ianto and squeezed his forearm as the Detective Inspector strode to the whiteboard and cleared his throat. 

"Detective Inspector Gerald Carter. Erm. Thank you all for coming." He paused, offered an awkward small smile, as if he had read a manual that told him smiling was part of being welcoming, and then continued in his usual demeanor, "Perhaps we should go around the table and introduce ourselves."

_And perhaps we should do trust falls and build a tower out of office furniture while we're at it._ Jack kept his eye roll to himself as Gwen stood and nervously introduced herself. Jack winked at her, and was rewarded with a bright smile. He didn't pay much attention to the introductions, except to note that the wiry little doctor was named Owen Harper and Toshiko did not seem to like him much. Next to Jack, Ianto stared at his hands and mumbled his name. Jack flashed the room his "charming, with good dental care" smile and introduced himself as Agent Jack Harkness of the Central Intelligence Agency, officially not in Cardiff at the moment.

"Right, then." DI Carter clasped his hands together at the front of the room. "I would like to take this moment to say that I am _quite_ honored to be working with an international task force. When I started as a lowly PC," and he nodded in Gwen's direction, "I had no idea that one day I would be at the head of such prestigious company!" Jack would have been amused at the look on Gwen's face, had Gerald Carter not already succeeded in annoying him. _The head?_ Jack glanced at the others and saw various levels of incredulity and annoyance. He cleared his throat. "That's great, Gerald." Carter looked startled and opened his mouth, but Jack plowed right over him. "Toshiko, have you received the autopsy photos you wanted?"

Toshiko threw a glance at the DI. "Yes." She stood and began to pull scanned photos from one of her folders. "In a quick perusal this morning, I noted that six of the victims also have an identifiable needle prick on an exposed bone." She crossed to the front of the room and hung the photos from the whiteboard. "Dr. Harper, perhaps you could look through these others and see if I am missing anything?" She placed a fat folder on the table in front of him.

Harper grimaced down at the folder. "Okay, but I can tell you right now – these people don't have the same blood types. Let's say your killer's extracting bone marrow, yeah?" Harper used his biro to gesture to the hanging photos. "Why? She's not using thick bones and they don't match each other. It's pretty useless. What's the bloody point?"

Jack frowned. He didn't have any good ideas on that account, himself. PC Gwen caught his eye, her lips parted. He nodded at her. "What are you thinking, Gwen?"

DI Carter stared at Gwen as she stood again and addressed the others. "I was thinking about why Suzie would choose these particular victims, and I think we should look in their pasts and see if any of them had near-death experiences." Beside Jack, Ianto swiveled his head around and looked at Gwen. She began to pick up steam. "Apparently Mark Brisco was supposed to be in a car that was involved in a fatal accident a week ago. And what with Suzie's obsession with Emily Dickinson, I don't know, so many of those poems are about death and immortality. And these are maybe people who escaped death. And now it's as if Suzie can play the role of Death here." Jack was acutely aware of Ianto tensing beside him, and he had an irrational thought to ask Gwen to stop mentioning death. _Ridiculous thought in a murder investigation._ Carter gave her a cold look, and she faltered a bit under the weight of his stare. "Well, it's… it's a hunch, anyway."

"PC Cooper," Carter gave a condescending smile. "We follow facts here. Not hunches. Now, please – " 

Jack cut him off. "Here's a fact. Alex was in a boating accident when he was a kid. His grandfather died."

"Alex Hopkins has a needle mark," Tosh confirmed from her place by the whiteboard. "The fifth picture here."

"Is there an international club for survivors of near-death experiences, then?" Carter tried to inject humor into his question, but it fell flat. "Or does Ms. Costello look them up in the phone book?" he finished irritably.

"I had a hunch about that, too," Gwen answered, regaining some of her bright spark at the support from Jack and Toshiko. "What if she went undercover as someone who travels a lot and people naturally talk to? Like a reporter?"

Harper snorted. "People talk to reporters?"

"Maybe not about themselves," Toshiko mused. "But the chance to have your inside scoop written into an article? There are certainly people who would like that."

Jack rubbed his hands together. "I think it's definitely a hunch worth checking out. Good work, Gwen!" She blushed and sat back down as he continued. "This one here, Jonah Bevan? He was killed in Cuba. Their borders are heavily monitored. We should be able to determine if Suzie was there before the murder. Just under a different name."

Ianto finally spoke up. "I have a contact there. I bet he'd be able to tell us what foreigners were allowed into Cuba the week of the murder."

"Great!" Jack stood, smacking his hands on the table. "Now we just need to find out who in Cardiff has had near a death experience. Suggestions?" Both Toshiko and Ianto stared at him. "What?" he asked. 

"I was with Lisa during the accident," Ianto answered finally. "I should be dead."

 

Gwen

Gwen sighed and shifted her weight from her right foot to her left. Andy shot her a smirk over the top of Max's head. Max was sitting, of course. Gwen sighed again. She had to remind herself she had volunteered for this.

After Ianto had made his admission at the station, the team had redoubled its efforts, breaking into smaller groupings to tackle different aspects of the case. Jack had pulled her aside in their little meeting room. "Look, Gwen, I've been trying to get in to see Suzie's father for the past couple of days – could you check that out? You'd have access as PC Cooper." He had small frown lines on his forehead and his eyes kept returning to Ianto. Gwen wasn't sure what exactly was going on there, but she had nodded and given him a hesitant smile. Jack had smiled back briefly before continuing. "I know there's something up with her dad; I'm just not sure if she just wants to kill him herself or if she's planning something for him before killing him…" His eyes went back to Ianto, bent over a file with Tosh, and he gave himself a shake. "Anyhow. I think we need to get to the bottom of her father's situation."

"I agree." Gwen had turned with a frown to find Dr. Harper at her elbow. He frowned back. "Come on. Costello's in a coma, so right off no one can talk to him, in a hospital that specializes in cosmetic surgery? A bit convenient, don't you think?"

Jack had nodded. "Exactly. That's what I'd like you to figure out. Will you, Gwen?" He had placed his hands on her shoulders and she found herself nodding her head of its own accord.

"I'll go with you," Harper had declared. "I want to see this for myself." 

Which led to her current situation in the hallway outside Costello's door with Andy (and Max), Harper having run off with a list of further questions for Dr. Patanjali. Gwen had already looked in on Costello, on the pretense of checking the window. Max had just grunted. Costello looked comatose to her, but he could have been faking, she supposed. He was hooked up to machines, at any rate. She threw a cursory glance towards the window and stopped dead. The window was bricked up. Well, apparently Mr. Costello was such a special patient he not only got his own room, he was allowed to take out windows. She slipped back outside, and Max gave her a sardonic little smile.

"How did you find the window?" he asked.

"Red," she answered. Andy raised an eyebrow at her as Max settled back further in his chair with an appreciative noise. 

Gwen leaned back against the wall and yawned. Damn, but she could feel her late night and early morning weighing on her now! Her stomach rumbled, and Andy coughed into his hand. "Shut it, you," she muttered.

"I don't believe I said anything," Andy returned.

"Hmph." Gwen glanced down the hallway. At one end was a cross hallway. At the other was the stairwell. She chewed on her lip. "Andy, I'm going to go check out the stairwell. Won't take but a minute."

"Don't get lost," he called after her. She waved absently over her shoulder.

Her boot heels sounded as loud as her stomach, and she hunched her shoulders a bit, as if that would help. They were all private rooms on this floor; three open doors showcasing empty rooms on her right, and a broom closet, and empty room, and one occupied room at the end of the hall on her left. She should speak to someone about the empty rooms. They were too easy for Suzie to hide in. Perhaps locking the doors and turning on the lights would deter her somewhat. She pushed against the EXIT door with her hip. The stairwell was brightly lit. Her eyes scanned the landing before finding the camera. She craned her neck at it. There was a definite blind spot, but it would be impossible to actually leave the stairwell unseen.

She worried over the empty rooms on her way back down the hall. Spire must be fairly desperate for money if they had so much unused space. She wondered who that would benefit more: Costello the Elder or Costello the Younger? Andy raised a brow at her as she passed him and Max, and she crossed her eyes at him. 

Andy snorted, and opened his mouth, then frowned. "You hear that?"

They all three looked toward the cross hallway. There were definitely people coming.

"Oh, I can't _wait_ to hear this explanation, Doc. None of us can!" It was Dr. Harper, and he was half-shoving an extremely attractive, though disgruntled man along with him. Gwen presumed that this was Dr. Patanjali.

"PC Cooper, PC Blondie, Rupesh here," Harper called, seizing Patanjali's wrist and pulling him forward, "really wants to tell you something." They stopped in front of Costello's door. "Now spill," Harper ordered.

Patanjali wrenched his arm back from the smaller man and shot him an angry glare. He ran a hand through his hair and tried to find his dignity. "I'm sure I don't know what you mean," he muttered. 

"I don't think so, mate." Harper folded his arms across his chest. "Here, I'll translate this into layman's terms for our coppers, hmmm?" He turned to Gwen and Andy. Max watched impassively under his heavy lids. "Costello has never been in a coma. The man's scared shitless. He's completely changing his face, and then he's going to disappear so his freak of a daughter will never find him."

 

Jack

"Lo conoces?" Ianto murmured into his mobile. Jack glanced up from his laptop to watch Ianto's long fingers grip a pen as he scribbled something down. "Y sabes que ningunas personas … sí." 

Jack looked down again as Ianto met his eyes. He'd been caught staring several times already. He focused on the screen in front of him. There was one murder in St. Petersburg, Russia. Other than Cuba, it was the only murder location that had stricter regulations on foreign visitors, and he was hoping to definitively place Suzie there. He'd debated getting Yvonne to request a formal list of visitors from the Russian government, but hacking was so much faster. He frowned at the list of names he'd managed to compile by sifting through Customs. It was possible she'd just bribed her way in, after all, and wouldn't show up as herself or anyone else.

"Te entiendo. Sí. Gracias, Jaime." Ianto snapped his mobile closed and leaned across the table. "I think we can place her in Cuba."

Jack's pulse quickened. "What've you got?"

Ianto glanced down at his scribbled notes. "Jonah Bevan, December 2006 – three press visas were issued to a small Irish paper, _Four Brothers Press_." He underlined the name in his notebook, muttering, " _I've_ never heard of them." He looked back up at Jack. "At any rate, visas went to Patrick O'Flannery, Sean Turner and Emma Richards. Jaime took a shot of the visa form on his phone. Look." He flipped his mobile open and handed it over. Jack stared down at Suzie staring up at him. It took a conscious effort to unclench his fist.

"Emma Richards? For Emily Dickinson, I presume – cute," he grunted. "Look at this list." Ianto came around and peered over his shoulder. "British businessman name of Ed Morgan was killed in St. Petersburg, and the week before his murder," he maximized the window, "Suzie was hiding behind one of these names."

Ianto leaned in closer, and Jack had to bite back the temptation to stretch two inches over and lick his neck. "Not Richards this time," Ianto murmured and Jack shivered involuntarily at the touch of his breath. 

Jack started scrolling down. "How about a Richardson? Or Dickens? Dickhead?" Jack smiled to himself when Ianto snorted with what he hoped was amusement. He scrolled through the D's and R's until they both noticed it at the same time. "Rick, Emmeline," they said in unison. 

Jack's mobile began to vibrate loudly on his hip and he flicked it open. _Gwen._ "My favorite PC!" Jack answered, voice full of cheer. "You find anything out over there?"

Jack watched Ianto wander across to the other side of the room, where DI Carter had a marker top in between his teeth as he liberally highlighted the Emily Dickinson printouts. Next to him, Tosh had files spread out and her own set of highlighters.

"Mr. Costello is here for plastic surgery, Jack. He's not dying; he's in recovery from massive surgeries." Gwen sounded a little breathless with excitement.

Jack sat up straight. "Oh, that's good, Gwen! Have you been in to see him? Or, hold on – if you haven't gone in yet, I would really like to talk to him."

"Haven't gone in yet! We can wait for you, yeah? He's still a day or two from being able to pull a runner."

Jack scrambled to his feet. "Great! I'll just …" He temporarily lost his train of thought as the pitch of the conversation between Ianto and Toshiko changed to one he could only label as "passive aggressive," especially coupled with their crossed arms and tense shoulders, "…um, I'll get Ianto and we'll come over there."

"Okay," Gwen answered slowly, "but are you sure he shouldn't, well, go back to London? After all."

Jack looked at Ianto's stiff stance and the hard line of his jaw. Jack knew he'd looked very similar after Alex. "I don't think so." A small car sounded over his mobile, and he frowned. "Gwen, are you outside? I thought you were on guard duty."

"Um." Her voice was quieter now, almost apologetic. "That was my stomach."

He laughed then, and Ianto, Toshiko and Carter all turned to stare at him. "We'll bring you something. See you soon, Gwen."

He snapped his mobile closed and joined the others. "Well!" He slapped Ianto on the shoulder. "You want to go over to Spire with me and drop in on Costello the Elder, who, by the way, is most definitely NOT dying?"

Ianto jerked his head in a nod and strode from the room. Jack turned to Toshiko. "Okay, what?"

Toshiko shot a glance at Carter, and the man quickly looked back down at his poems. "Ianto should go home," she whispered. "We can handle this, and I don't like him being here with Suzie and her predilection for people like him."

Jack put his arms around her shoulders and led her a few feet away. "Toshiko. I think he _needs_ this. And personally, I feel better knowing he's where I can keep an eye on him."

Toshiko gave him a very level look, and he shifted his weight from foot to foot. She knew him much too well. "Jack. What happened with Alex was not your fault."

He looked away. "I shouldn't have let him out of my sight."

Toshiko sighed. "I can't convince you, can I?" she asked, shaking her head. "Right, then. Go with Ianto, keep him safe, and let me know what happens with Costello."

He kissed her forehead. "We'll be in touch."

Ianto was leaning against the wall out in the hall, waiting for him when he came out. Jack ached to see the shadows in Ianto's eyes, but he just gave him a small smile and gestured for him to lead the way. He cleared his throat when they reached Ianto's SUV. "I told Gwen we'd pick up something for her to eat on the way." 

Ianto nodded, fingers closing convulsively around the steering wheel. "We can get curry. I know the area." He took a deep breath. "Thanks for not… sending me away, or… asking questions…" His voice trailed off.

"I understand," Jack said quietly, and he did, a bit, but he had so many questions. But even though he'd only met Ianto recently, he already knew that he wasn't the type of person you could ask. You had to be told. So he held his tongue and watched as Ianto drove them to a hole-in-the-wall curry place.

Ianto parked and hopped out of the vehicle. "I'll be right back. You want one?"

Jack nodded and watched him disappear into the shop. There wasn't much he could do for Ianto, except give him something purposeful to do, to take his mind off his wife's death, and feel like he was accomplishing something. Jack sighed and automatically began to survey his surroundings. The curry shop was bordered by a watchmakers' shop on one side and an alley on the other. Jack narrowed his eyes at the alley. It opened into a cross alley in the back, and was too dark to see much of anything, but there _was_ a slight movement. Jack slipped out of the car, closing the door softly behind him. This was just the type of place Suzie would use. He reached down slowly and drew his gun. The movement in the back alley coalesced into a form. Jack dashed to the cover of a skip in the alley's entrance and peered round the side. He thought it was a woman. Suddenly the side door of the curry shop opened and Ianto stepped out into the alley. Jack cursed violently.

"Ianto, get back!" he yelled. Ianto looked up, startled, and the door smacked him in the face. "You! Hands in the air!" Jack yelled to the woman. She shrieked and complied.

Five minutes later, he was still apologizing. The "woman" was a twelve-year-old girl who had wet her pants at the sight of the gun. Ianto gave him a disgusted look as he gathered up the curry containers (at least nothing had spilled) and flashed his badge at the girl to mollify her. Jack handed over twenty quid so she could get new pants. He had a feeling she was ripping him off, but one look at Ianto's thunderous glare, and he meekly handed over the bills. 

"What the hell was that about, Jack?" Ianto asked as the girl went shuffling off, clutching Jack's money and sniffling a few last melodramatic tears.

"She looked like she could be Suzie," Jack explained. Calmly, he thought. "Considering your past, I think I was perfectly in my right to be on my guard."

"Suzie doesn't know anything about my past, Jack. No one's been talking to any strangers." Ianto shrugged his shoulders irritably and shoved the curry into the SUV. 

"We don't know that for sure," Jack argued. He'd made a mistake, and he knew it, but the knowledge just made him angry.

"That kid's going to need therapy," Ianto muttered.

"Look, I said I was sorry, okay?" Jack snapped back, and Ianto rounded on him, advancing back into the alley.

"Jack, I can take care of myself! For God's sake, I'm carrying my own gun here!"

Jack took two quick steps closer to Ianto and shoved him easily up against the wall, one arm hard against Ianto's throat and the other hand smoothly disarming the other man and shoving the gun up under his chin. Ianto stared back at him in shock, mouth working noiselessly. "You're not carrying a gun now," Jack gritted out. "You need to learn to BE CAREFUL!"

Ianto shoved him hard, and Jack stumbled a bit before catching himself. Ianto's hand closed over his on the gun. Jack grunted with the effort, but he managed to get Ianto back against the wall. They'd both dropped the gun, and Jack kicked at it with his right foot, sending it skittering away. "I think you need a refresher in self-defense," Jack began, but was pulled up short by the look in Ianto's eyes. This close to him, he could clearly see the shadows of raging grief and despair in the other man's eyes. Such beautiful blue eyes, and they looked deep into Jack now. Jack took a step back, flinching. 

"I – I'm sorry, Ianto. I always take the point too far." He stumbled back even farther. He could feel the heat crawling up his neck to his cheeks and when was the last time he'd blushed? He couldn't remember.

Ianto finally looked away. "Let's forget it, shall we?" he mumbled. His fingers picked at his tie, smoothing and straightening. Or trying to. They were shaking rather badly.

Jack winced. "Here, let me," and then his fingers were on the tie, silky smoothness against his rough skin, and his eyes traveled up Ianto's neck to his jaw line and up to that little curl of dark hair around his ear. He lowered his gaze back to the tie and breathed in to steady himself. He smelled… blood. He looked back up, startled. Ianto had a split lip, not bad at all, but a tiny trickle of blood made its way down his chin. Jack hissed, and automatically raised his thumb to wipe it away. "Did I do that?" he whispered.

Ianto shook his head minutely. "The door whacked me in the face," he answered, voice low. Jack was close enough that he could smell his toothpaste – not peppermint, maybe spearmint – and the coffee they'd had that morning, plus Ianto's sweat and blood and just a whiff of his cologne.

"Good," he breathed, and took one last step closer. He didn't close his eyes when he kissed the other man, but took in Ianto's dark lashes against his pale skin, bright spots of color blooming in his cheeks, and really, he was going to have to pull away soon because this was crazy, definitely one of his worst ideas ever. But he didn't want to stop, his tongue tasted the metallic tint of the blood and, yes, that was spearmint, and coffee; his hands abandoned the tie for good to cup Ianto's face. His heart tripped and stuttered, and took off at a gallop when Ianto's hands made their way to his shoulders and didn't push him away. He was running out of air, but he couldn't care less. He delicately pulled Ianto's lower lip between his and sucked at the cut. Ianto's eyelashes fluttered open at the sudden pain, and Jack licked at the blood, his tongue pressing until the bleeding stopped.

Ianto pulled back, chest rising and falling rapidly. He swallowed. Jack watched him through slit eyes, wary as a feral cat. "I …" Ianto started, took a breath, and continued, changing tack, "we should get to the hospital."

Jack nodded. "We should."

Ianto raised a shaky hand to his lip. "That didn't … that didn't just happen."

Jack answered with his best poker face. "Of course it didn't."

Ianto looked at him for one long moment, before turning to lead the way from the alley. "You have the worst possible timing, Jack Harkness."

Well, not _that_ good of a poker face, then.

 

Gwen

" _I get knocked down, but I get up again, you're never gonna keep me down!_ "

"Rhys!" Gwen hissed, hurriedly accepting the call on her mobile. "That song?"

"Not professional enough for you, eh, love?"

"No, it bloody well _isn't_." She ducked back out into the hall, face flaming. She could feel Harper smirking at her backside, damn him. Dr. Patanjali was probably relieved the other doctor had his angry eyes directed somewhere else for a minute. She shut the office door firmly behind her.

"I was hoping it'd play the bit about pissing the night away –"

"Rhys," she interrupted him. "Is there a reason why you're calling?" 

"Just wondering how your day was. You were up late last night."

She sighed and rubbed her palm against her forehead. "Don't remind me."

"And I had to tell you the One Stop was all out of Dairy Milks! Completely. Who runs out of Dairy Milks, eh? They had the nerve to try to sell me a Flake instead. A Flake! I showed them; I bought a Twix."

"A Twix is nothing like a Dairy Milk."

"That wasn't the point."

She smiled despite herself. "Rhys," she started to say when, with an audible whoosh, the power went out. "Shit," she whispered.

"What?" Rhys asked, his voice loud in the sudden silence.

"I'm going to need you to call my station, Rhys, and tell them we've lost power at Spire." She stopped talking abruptly. Her phone was dead, too. Whoever had cut the power had also blocked the signal for her mobile. She took a deep breath.

She could make out the door handle to the office in the green glow of the emergency exit signs at the ends of the hall. It was pushed open from the other side just as her hand closed around it, though, causing her to stumble back.

"Oi! Copper!" Harper poked his head around the door. "Copper Cooper," he continued, stepping completely out into the hall. "Does that get old?"

"You're the first one to ever say it," Gwen deadpanned. "The two of you okay? And what are you doing with a 'Spire's Spire of Excellence' Award?" She nodded at the garish thick plastic wand-like award clutched in the doctor's hands.

"Weapon," Harper said succinctly. "I locked Rupesh into his closet with his files," he said, jabbing his thumb in the direction of the shadowy depths of the office. "Don't want him to get away and he's just dead weight. Besides, can't read the damn things in this light, anyhow."

"You can't lock a civilian in a closet!"

"Why not? I'm a civilian. Forget I mentioned it. In fact, I was telling a joke. Ha, ha, he's locked in the closet."

Gwen had a feeling her withering stare was lacking in intensity in the green-tinged gloom. "Let him out! I need to ask –"

"Why the emergency generators haven't kicked in? Already did. Switch is in the basement, either it fizzled out in a strange coincidence, or Suzie messed with it. We can manually override it. Come on." He started to march down the hall.

"PC Cooper?" Dr. Patanjali's voice called faintly from the back of the office. "I really would prefer to stay in my closet. If you don't mind. I'd rather not run into Ms. Costello."

Gwen's eyebrows climbed up into her fringe. She stood on the threshold, hesitating, but Harper called for her from down the hall, and her shoulder radio fizzled to life.

_"Gwen?"_

"Andy! Are you lot okay up there?" She hurried after Harper. "Listen, we're going to try to fix the emergency generator; it's in the basement. Will you be all right?"

_"Quiet as the grave here now,"_ Andy replied. _"Good thing the hospital's so unused, and Costello can breathe on his own."_

"Yeah. Lucky," Gwen agreed.

"Keep your eyes peeled for nefarious bandits, PC Blondie!" Harper yelled into her shoulder as Gwen caught up to him.

_"You be on the lookout for grumkins."_

"What on earth's a grumkin?" Gwen asked, fumbling her torch out of her belt loop as they approached the stairwell.

_"They're from…you know, the books? Never mind; just be careful."_

"You, too. Suzie Costello is very determined. Going radio silent on my end now, Andy."

The radio blipped and went quiet as the door to the stairs fell shut behind them. It was darker in the stairwell despite the emergency lights. Gwen made a mental note to include windows in the stairwells the next time she was designing a building, and bit back a giggle. It was possible she was feeling just slightly hysterical. After all, they were probably trapped in this hospital with a serial killer, and no amount of calling her a nefarious bandit or grumkin would make the situation light and airy were they to come face to face.

Her torch revealed an empty landing. She almost gripped Harper's hand in relief, but stopped herself. She was a grown woman, and a PC besides! She felt a little better when Harper took a hold of her arm beneath her shoulder and hung on as her torch lit their way. His shoes scuffed loudly on the stairs, competing with his harsh breathing as they passed the painted number one. Almost there.

It was even darker in the basement.

Gwen looked around, eyes opened as wide as they could go, what little good it did her.

"Swing the light to the left," Harper whispered, and Gwen panned the light slowly across the left wall as Harper kept talking. "He said the generator was in a room to the left – holy fuck!"

Gwen's heart leaped into her throat as Suzie Costello sprang from the shadows. She shrieked, raising her arms in front of her face in an instinctual attempt to protect her throat and eyes from Suzie's attack. She used her hips to unceremoniously shove Harper out of harm's way right before Suzie barreled into her. She lost her grip on the torch in the force of the impact, and it went skittering across the floor, sending flashing light up in a riotous kaleidoscope.

But Suzie wasn't there for Gwen Cooper, and after knocking her aside she ran full tilt for the stairs.

"Harper, grab that torch and fix the power!" Gwen yelled, already taking off after Suzie and the bobbing light of her own torch, one of those fashion disasters that was imminently practical, affixed to a strap around her forehead. Gwen fumbled her baton out of its holster as she ran, trusting Harper to do as he was told for once.

"Andy!" she hissed into her radio. "She's here, she's coming, be careful, Andy!"

Her radio fizzled in reply as she made it up to the landing between the first and second floor. The door to the stairwell opened below them and Gwen's heartbeat sped up. Surely they were friendly, surely Suzie didn't have accomplices, but could she really risk yelling out to them? Before she could decide, Suzie's light suddenly went dead and Gwen lurched to a stop, too late as she walked right into Suzie's trap, an empty trash bin on its side across the stairs. Gwen stumbled and Suzie jumped forward, using the force of her momentum to flip her over the railing.

Gwen screamed as she fell, her hands reaching up to grasp at empty air for the length of one floor before–

 

Jack

Jack snagged her hand as she went flying past and Gwen slammed into the railing with a loud, "Oof."

"Was that Suzie?" he demanded. "Did Suzie just go by?"

"Yeah, she's cut the power, but we're fixing it," Gwen huffed as he and Ianto pulled her back over the railing.

He knew it, he _knew_ it was Suzie the second they pulled into the drive and the sign wasn't lit up. Ianto had parked up on the curb and kicked a side door open, as the automatic doors were automatically closed. Normally Jack would have said something licentious at the display of force, but he was too busy running inside and pulling out his gun. Poor Gwen just had her baton to deal with a dangerous serial killer.

"She's heading for her father," Jack stated, not that the other two needed him to tell them that. "You keep going up this stairwell. I bet you anything she's circled around and will come at him from the stairs in the north tower. I'll go that way."

"Don't do anything foolish," Ianto warned him as Jack took the stairs two at a time and rammed the door open with his shoulder.

"Trust me!" he called back. The door slammed shut with finality and his boots squeaked on the linoleum as he ran down the hall. He didn't see anyone; the hospital was mainly deserted, and those few patients who remained apparently were taking the cower-in-the-room approach. It was a good choice. A nurse poked her head above the staffing desk in the middle of the floor as he ran by, gasped loudly at the sight of his gun, and dove back down. It couldn't be helped.

It was darker again in the stairwell when he shoved the door open. He nearly lost an eye right then, barely throwing himself to the side as Suzie's scalpel clattered harmlessly against the thick glass in the window. He would feel his landing the next morning, no doubt, but his knee held and he rolled back up to his feet in time to dodge another sharp object. It put a tear in his coat.

He trained his gun on the shadows in the landing above him.

"Anything else you need to get off your chest, Suzie?" he called up.

He was answered with a low laugh.

"So witty, Harkness. Do you get your lines from that American cop show? _CSI: Miami_?"

"Nah, I don't wear my sunglasses at night." He could just start shooting. He was bound to hit her _somewhere_. Doubtless she had a gun and would fire back. Even if she got him, it would be worth it to get her.

"No, I don't think you will," Suzie said softly. Jack started. How could she have possibly known what he was thinking? "Because we think the same," Suzie answered his unasked question. "We're both killers, Jack. You're just hung up on the why. You can't fire first if you expect me to talk to you."

"Is that so?" Jack asked, stalling. "You're talking now. I bet you want to tell me all about it."

"About watching a man die? That final gasp of breath, the realization setting in that there'll be no others? It's exciting the first few times, I'll give you that, but it gets old quick. Alex was a boring death, if that's what you came to find out, I feel sorry for you."

"I'm going to fucking rip you apart, Suzie Costello." His vision was clouded with anger, or maybe just the murky light in the stairwell seeping in from the hall outside. He needed to end it, and fast, else he'd give in to his instincts and pump her so full of lead they'd need a crane to lift her heavy body.

"No, you won't. It's not my time. Death and I are old friends, Harkness. He'd tell me if he was coming for me. He's here, now. Waiting for my father. I just want to kill my father. I really could care less about talking to you."

"I can't let you do that."

" _You should._ "

The lights came on with a buzz of florescent lighting and Suzie was suddenly illuminated. Jack aimed for her shoulder, his finger itching on the trigger, when the stairwell door on Suzie's landing flew open. She startled, her gun turning on the new arrival, but Ianto was ready for her and pistol-whipped her across the face with his own gun. Jack stared in shock as Suzie fell to her knees.

"Most people fire those things, you know," he said, running up the stairs and grabbing Suzie by the elbow to haul her up. She blinked dazedly at him, a trickle of blood at her forehead.

"If I fired at point-blank range, you would never get to interrogate her," Ianto said calmly, his steady voice at odds with his shaking hands. "It wouldn't be proper to kill her outright."

Jack grunted in response and tugged out a pair of cuffs from an inner pocket. "Suzie Costello, you have the right…you know, forget it, I don't know what the hell your rights are here. You have the right to not be killed by a serial killer, not to have your corpse experimented on, not to have the words of Emily Dickinson profaned by a murderer. Pretty damn decent rights." 

Suzie kept her mouth firmly shut, her eyes hooded. Jack didn't know if he'd been hoping for tears from her, or that maybe she would be hysterical. Instead she was as responsive as a brick, keeping up her stony wall of silence as the Cardiff police and Toshiko arrived soon after. Toshiko took charge, reading Suzie her rights in a firm voice and assuming custody of her with a quick exchange of glances with Jack. His jaw clenched, but he still wasn't officially in Cardiff. Toshiko gave him a sympathetic look before instructing everyone to meet back at the station, the same one they'd been at just that morning. As Jack stared at Suzie being led away, he couldn't help but feel a colossal sense of let-down. So many years spent tracking this woman, and she wasn't even held under his authority. He needed to question her. It burned inside.

"Agent Harkness?" It was Cooper's partner, the tall blond copper. Alfred or something. "Gwen had said you were wanting to see Suzie Costello's father?"

Jack blinked. He _had_ said that, a million years ago. "Yes…"

"Well, it's just, he's upstairs. Alive and breathing. Didn't know if you still might want to have a chat with him?"

It was a good idea. No wonder he had thought of it earlier. He straightened up, ignoring the twinge in his knee, and caught Ianto's eye as the other man was about to leave with Toshiko, a police escort and Suzie.

"We'll both go," Jack said.

***

The room stank of antiseptic and overflowing bed pans, and the curtains were drawn so just a little sunlight crept in. Ianto's nose wrinkled, Jack noted, but he smoothed it out almost immediately, nodding to Gwen's partner with a quiet "Thanks" as he closed the door behind them. 

"Did you catch the abomination?" came a querulous voice from the bed. Jack took a step closer, while Ianto stayed by the door, leaning back and looking impassive. It was all a show, but he played it very well.

"Do you typically refer to your daughter as an abomination?" Jack asked, trying to keep his voice light for the moment. Costello was a very scared man, he reminded himself. He'd need to be subtle. Unfortunately, Jack and subtlety went together like oil and water.

"I have no daughter," Costello said, sniffling into a tissue. "My name is Jack Griffin. Max told me there was an abomination wandering the halls of this hospital."

Jack raised an eyebrow. "Griffin, is it? Cute."

Costello said nothing in reply. Jack took in the machines, the tubes, the man's disturbingly half-finished face. He had a weak chin that plastic surgery had done nothing to fix. Jack fought back the urge to take him by the shoulders and shake him. He reached into his inner coat pocket and pulled out a photo in a clear plastic sleeve.

"So this woman here? You don't recognize her at all? Anything ring a bell?"

Costello recoiled from the picture as if Jack was thrusting a poisonous snake in his face.

"Take it away! She looks like my own poor Suzie! Oh, I can't bear it!"

Jack secreted the picture once more and Costello took a dramatic shuddering breath.

"What can you tell me about Suzie? Your own poor Suzie Costello." Costello's eye started to close and Jack leaned forward, snapping his fingers in front of the old man's face. "Wakey-wakey. Suzie Costello. What do you know about her?"

"She was so beautiful," Costello whispered. "So terrible what happened to her."

"What? What happened to her?" Jack's stomach lurched. Whatever Costello was going to say, it was going to be bad. He almost took back his question. He had Suzie, did he really need to know what her father was going to say? But he did. He needed to know why.

"Evil," Costello nodded solemnly. "An evil man crept into her room at nights and did evil things. She was so dirty after that, who would touch her?"

Jack wanted to kill him, strangle him with the rope of his own confession, hidden behind the flimsy shield of a different name.

"My Suzie would read me poetry, before," Costello continued, fingers moving restlessly on his bed sheet. "Always pronounced everything just so. She was a very good reader, my Suzie. And beautiful, a beautiful child. She could have been a film star, but that wouldn't do."

"Why not, Mr. Griffin?" Jack managed to ask over his wave of disgust.

"Why, it's perverted, isn't it?"

Jack had seen a lot of hypocrisy in his career at the CIA, but the father of Suzie Costello was taking his breath away. Ianto looked like he was going to throw up all over the hospital bed. Jack almost wished he would, just to get the new Jack Griffin as dirty on the outside as he was on the inside.

"There's not much that I find perverted," Jack answered. "Sex, for example. I don't care how kinky it gets, sex is fun and beautiful." Ianto shifted his stance over by his place by the door. "A man forcing himself on his daughter, on the other hand, now that I think is perverted, and you'll pay for it, Costello."

"It's _Griffin_ , and I never touched my Suzie but for when she asked me to!"

Jack's guts churned, but he made his voice hard and cold as ice as he stood to leave. "And that is the saddest thing I've ever heard on so many levels. Enjoy your stay at Spire, Jack Griffin. Your next accommodations won't be as warm. You have my word, from one Jack to another." 

 

Gwen

Andy brought pizza. Gwen would have loved him for that if she didn't already. Updating the traffic violation database didn't hold a candle to extradition requests from a half-dozen countries, reports and forms. She leaned back in her chair and twisted a string of melty cheese around her finger. The pizza was still piping hot, nearly burning her other hand, but she didn't care. She wasn't putting the slice down for anything!

Her eyes traveled across the room. Harkness wasn't even bothering trying to keep his voice down as he told Gerald Carter in no uncertain terms what precautions he should take while Cardiff held Suzie as a prisoner. Just for overnight, Gwen reminded herself. Because tomorrow, Tosh had asked if she would like to accompany her back to London and the Interpol office there, where the main bulk of deciding who would get the first chance at Suzie Costello would take place.

Her eyes met Tosh's across the room, and both women exchanged brief smiles. Tosh was trying to go over Costello-the-elder's files while ignoring Owen Harper. Harper wanted Patanjali to be arrested for something, anything. Gwen was aiming for obstruction of justice herself, but it was a gray area, and she knew she was being swayed by his cowardice, which was not a crime after all. Harper just didn't like the man.

At the table next to them, Ianto was requisitioning a van to transport Suzie. Gwen frowned at the massive shadows under his eyes. He hadn't touched his pizza, either. He should be in London dealing with his wife's … Gwen blinked back a tear, annoyed with herself. If _Ianto_ could hold it together, surely she could, too. Besides, maybe work really was the best thing for him.

She helped herself to another piece. Next to her, Andy shot her an excited look, reminiscent of a kid at Christmas, finally getting upgraded to the adult table. She grinned and took a large bite of her pizza. It was amazing how soothing mozzarella could be to rattled nerves.

Harper gave up on his argument with Tosh and snatched up two slices of pizza, biting into both at once. Gwen tried to pretend he wasn't even there as Tosh looked up at her, adjusting her glasses.

"Gwen," she said, and the rest of the room fell silent to listen, except for Harper's disgusting mastication sounds. "That hunch you had about Suzie posing as a reporter? She didn't have to pose." She slid a magazine across the table, expertly avoiding dirty napkins and puddles of grease. "She started out as Suzanne Costa, writing for this medical journal. I've gone through some back issues – she traveled all over the world reporting on 'medical miracles.' It was her niche. Her father kept clippings."

Everyone's eyes focused on her. Ianto even gave her a tiny smile. She sat a bit straighter and hoped she didn't have tomato sauce on her cheek.

"So the magazine sent her places?" she asked, which was a little freaky, from the magazine's perspective. Kind of an unintentional accomplice to murder.

"At first. She went freelance a couple years ago, started using aliases for her travel. But the most interesting thing," Tosh continued, "are these medical records Dr. Harper obtained from Dr. Patanjali's office. They don't just belong to Suzie's father. They also belong to _Suzie_."

"And?" Harkness asked, striding over to the table and flipping over the file. "What did you find, Toshiko?"

"I think you had already figured it out, Jack," Tosh replied.

"Suzie was dying. Is dying," Jack said softly.

"Cancer," Tosh confirmed. "Of the bone marrow."

Harper snorted, and Andy flinched. Gwen could sympathize. No one wanted to be standing across from the man who snorted with a mouth full of pizza. She fished in her pocket for a tissue and passed it over to Andy.

"Was Suzie a moron or something? She couldn't possibly think she could find a match by randomly sampling the bone marrow of perfect strangers!" Harper took a decisive bite out of his pizza and scowled around at the room. If Gwen hadn't been so tired, she would have shot back with a witty rejoinder. Or a theory, a theory would have been good.

"Maybe she was practicing," Gwen said, grasping for something that could be it.

"That, and maybe she liked the illusion of power it gave her." Harkness's large hand clenched on the paper in the file. Gwen wiped her greasy fingers on her trousers and reached over, tugging the file gently out of his grasp and smoothing the papers. They'd need them later for evidence. As long as Suzie lived to reach trial.

"I need to get in there and speak with her," Harkness said, addressing Tosh, but it was Gerald Carter who responded.

"We will certainly take your request under due consideration."

Everyone stared at him. He had the grace to blush.

"I'm sure what our colleague means," Tosh said carefully, "is that, due to extenuating circumstances, you should take a half-hour and unofficially question her."

Harkness nodded curtly. "I'll go now."

He strode quickly out of the room, his coat swishing behind him. Tosh and Ianto exchanged a look, then Ianto followed Harkness. Harper shoved the last of his pizza in his mouth and pulled the medical files towards him. Gerald Carter seemed to come back to himself with a start.

"Heavens, look at the time! Davidson, Cooper, your shifts ended ten minutes ago. I think Interpol has this paperwork well in hand. Tut, tut." He tapped his watch and peeled back his lips in what he obviously thought was a smile. "Don't want to charge the city of Cardiff for unnecessary overtime now, do we?"

Gwen shook her head and Carter took it for acquiescence instead of disbelief at his utter lack of tact.

"Actually, DI Carter, I could use a hand," Tosh said. "Gwen is caught up on Suzie's case."

"Yeah," Gwen chimed in quickly. "Yes, I mean. I would love to help."

"And Interpol would contribute to any overtime," Tosh said, a hint of frost in her voice. Gwen hid her smile behind a napkin.

Carter's inner struggle flashed across his face for a moment before he grudgingly gave in. "Right, well, in that case. Davidson!" he barked. "We need to tie up loose ends at Spire. You're still on the clock." He gave Tosh a perfunctory nod and turned on his heel.

Andy rolled his eyes, but followed him out the door, brushing crumbs off his uniform.

"You know, Gwen," Tosh said, finally helping herself to a piece of pizza. "You should give serious thought to applying for Interpol."

Gwen's heart beat a little faster. It had sounded beyond amazing when Tosh had described it the other day. And working as a detective instead of a copper…but then she thought of Rhys, and how she had to struggle to find the time to see him as it was. And what about Andy, her supportive partner? She hesitated for a long moment. She wanted it. Badly.

"It's not always travel all the time," Tosh said, as if she could read her reasons why not, plain as day. "Although some of us do have a hard time maintaining an outside life. But you could be different, Gwen. Someone has to be."

She licked her lips nervously. "So. What do I do to apply?"

Tosh smiled at her, but Harper interrupted before she could say anything. Gwen had been trying to forget he was even still in the room with them. "Whatever you do, Copper Cooper, do it quickly." He tossed Suzie's file back on the table. "Suzie Costello is not long for this world."

 

Jack

Jack schooled his fingers to stillness by laying them flat against the cool surface of the bolted-down metal table. Everything in the room was bolted down, except for Jack – the table, two chairs, even Suzie. Jack was the only one free.

He snorted to himself. Suzie did not look up. He had freedom of movement, sure, but true freedom was an illusion. He glanced at his watch – only ten more minutes remained on his guarantee.

"Suzie," he said through gritted teeth. "Tell me why."

Nothing. In a room down the hall, Tosh waited patiently, filling out paperwork and preparing to take Suzie away. Half an hour, she'd given him, off the record. And Suzie had stonewalled him for twenty minutes.

"Your dad seems nice," he said suddenly, trying a new tactic. Her eyelid twitched. "Of course, you wouldn't be able to recognize him now – looks like a watercolor of George Clooney that's been left in the rain."

Her lip curled in a sneer, but she maintained her silence.

"He had some interesting things to say about you. About the good times you'd have when you were a little girl. So young and eager-to-please." His stomach felt a little sick, to be blatantly referring to it, but he kept his face smooth, detached. "He told us how you used to read to him."

Something changed in her face, like a curtain closing, not that she had been expressive before.

_"Apparently with no surprise  
To any happy flower,  
The frost beheads it at its play  
In accidental power," _

Jack kept his voice quiet and calm. Suzie hissed under her breath, but he continued doggedly. 

_"The blond assassin passes on,  
The sun proceeds unmoved  
To measure off another day  
For an approving God."_

Suzie was breathing heavily by the time he finished.

"Was he your God, Suzie?" Jack asked.

She snapped.

"He never was!" She slammed her fists on the table, chains rattling. Jack knew without a doubt that if she could but reach, those ineffectual fists would be tight around his throat. He threw another weapon at her.

"He had a message for you, Suzie," he lied smoothly. "Do you know this one?"

_"Look back on time with kindly eyes,  
He doubtless did his best;  
How softly sinks his trembling sun  
In human nature's west!"_

"A ball on a stick would've been a better parent than that excuse for a human being," Suzie snarled. "His trembling fucking sun?! You shouldn't have stopped me, Harkness. You should've _thanked_ me!"

"For killing Alex? Mark Brisco? Jonah Bevan? All the others?" He thrust his finger in her face. "Explain to me why I should _thank you_ for their murders!"

She gave him a pitying look. "They were the walking dead. They had no business being here."

"No business? You arrogant little bitch–"

"Language, Harkness," she said primly. "I am a lady."

"I can't think of anyone less lady-like." And he'd been fooling himself to think he could get any closure by talking to Suzie. Insane people weren't known for their rationality.

"Is that supposed to wound me? Calling me names, throwing my freak of a father in my face – does that make you feel like a bigger man?" She bit off her words, the anger in her eyes the only physical indication that she didn't feel as calm as she looked. "In the end, you would've done the same as me. You would want to live, Harkness – live forever." She looked away. "There's something moving in the dark," she said softly. "The dead can see it, right as they die, soaking up the last light from their eyes. It's not Death." Her voice grew stronger, harder. "I was going to stop it. I was going to fight it, but you fucked it up, Harkness." 

"I can't say that I'm sorry." This had been a worthless exercise. Suzie was off the streets, it was the only satisfaction he was going to be able to take from this whole mess. He rose to leave as she started talking again.

"That dead boy out in the hall," she said, and Jack froze. Ianto, she had to mean Ianto. His eyes met hers of their own accord. "I'll be waiting for him in the dark. Tell him for me?"

His hands closed around her throat as she laughed. No matter how he squeezed she still laughed, a high-pitched wheeze. 

The door flew open and Ianto was there, pulling him off her, herding him out of the room as Cardiff's finest followed him in to shut Suzie up, move her away. Jack couldn't see; his vision was red.

"Jack! Jack, Jack." Slowly it dawned on him that Ianto was saying his name, Ianto was holding his face and looking into his eyes. " _Jack_."

Jack crushed their bodies together, his arms tight around Ianto as he drew strength from the other man. The grieving widower, he reminded himself, who didn't have much strength to spare. But his arms encircled Jack anyway, and his frame accepted Jack's weight.

Jack breathed in and out before loosening his grip enough to take a step back.

"Well. I didn't kill her," he said.

A flash of amusement cut through the concern in Ianto's cloudy blue eyes.

"That's good. I'd hate to arrest you."

"I can't believe she got to me. Dammit, you'd think after all this time I'd be able to…" His voice trailed away. A line appeared between Ianto's brows, a question on his lips, but it wasn't one Jack wanted to answer. He silenced him with a kiss, the kinder, gentler cousin to the one they'd shared in the alley, but no less wrong. Lisa's death clung to Ianto like a powerful cologne, filling Jack's nostrils even as he tried to erase the scars of her passage with his lips and tongue, and selfishly pull out healing for himself, too.

Ianto pushed him slowly back by his shoulders. "Jack."

"I'm sorry," he said automatically. It seemed he was forever apologizing to Ianto.

"Time, Jack. You just can't…I need a _friend_ …"

"I can be that," he answered quickly. And he could, he could be perfectly friendly, and wait and watch until he could have more. Surely he could do that.

"Good, because." Ianto's jaw clenched, and Jack knew exactly what he wasn't saying, as they were the same words he hadn't been saying for a long time – _I can't do this alone_.

"Jack?" Toshiko's voice sounded from out in the hall. Jack pulled reluctantly away, his hand falling from Ianto's neck, his fingers unclenching and smoothing down Ianto's waistcoat.

"In here," he called back. There was something in his throat, choking him. One glance at Ianto, quickly composing himself, his eyes a bit wild, told Jack it was probably his heart.

Toshiko appeared in the doorway, Gwen Cooper at her elbow. She gave Jack a crooked little smile, and Jack couldn't resist smiling back despite Suzie, despite Ianto and his own tangled feelings. He'd found a friend for life in PC Gwen Cooper. It'd been a while since that had happened for him. Not since Toshiko, really.

"Did you find what you were looking for?" Toshiko asked.

Jack snorted. "No. I don't think even Suzie could explain things…anyhow. Have you come to collect her?"

Toshiko shook her head. "Not just yet. We'll leave in the morning. It's already rush hour out there, and we're exhausted. Better to leave at first light."

"I'm going to take Ianto back to London tonight," Jack declared, deciding right then. Out of the corner of his eye he could see Ianto start, then visibly relax. It was the right thing to do, the friendly thing.

Toshiko bit her lip. "Will you…call me if you need anything?"

Jack felt a surge of warmth toward her for not asking Ianto if he'd be okay. It was obvious that wasn't on the table, at least for quite a while.

"Of course, Tosh," Ianto answered. "We're partners."

Jack looked away from their awkward hug and goodbyes.

"You'll be watching Suzie for me, right, Cooper?" he asked quietly, crossing over to stand beside her. "Don't pay attention to her ramblings, if you want to sleep soundly."

"Trust me, I'll turn a deaf ear to her, and I'll let you know if she so much as scratches her nose," Gwen promised. She stuck out her hand, and Jack shook it, his fingers completely engulfing hers. Déjà vu all over again. "Thank you for catching me," she said formally.

"Any time, Gwen Cooper."

He glanced back at the women as he led Ianto from the room. Their heads were bent toward each other, serious expressions on their faces. If nothing else, this case had brought them together. Jack could sense that would be a strong alliance. He held his hand protectively at the small of Ianto's back to direct him down the halls. Perhaps he and Ianto could also be a strong alliance, if they could look beyond their inner demons.

They left Cardiff in silence. The M4 stretched in front of them, choked with traffic, but it was nothing compared to the host of spirits in their SUV. Jack cut his eyes at Ianto, hunched against the passenger side door, gazing unseeing out at the gray day. He wondered if Ianto could feel them, the ghosts that followed close behind, crowding the backseat and trailing in the fumes from the exhaust pipe.

If he drove fast enough, would they be able to escape? Or would Lisa, Alex, all the others, always dog their path, no matter how much time passed? Jack fixed his eyes on the road and kept his brooding to himself.

The sun poked its head up from behind a cloud as they crossed the border, a final flare before it fell into the horizon. Jack rolled his shoulders, working out the kinks, and looked over at Ianto once more. The other man was asleep, the fog of dreams smoothing out the lines in his forehead and making him appear almost carefree. Jack's lips quirked up in a smile. Ianto's hand lay palm-side up on his knee. Jack reached over and squeezed it, letting go quickly, but not before receiving a squeeze in return.

They picked up speed, ghosts falling to dust behind them.

 

Epilogue

The stone wall was cold against her back, the chill seeping into her bones. She could imagine it filling up the porous spaces along the surfaces, flowing into the nooks and crannies the cancer had left behind. Slowly turning her to ice.

It was not how Suzie Costello would choose to die.

She could see them in her cell, all of the faces of the people who were supposed to die. All she had done was to complete the natural order. And if she had wanted to _see_ them, their healthy bones, practice on them – what harm was it? They were already dead, sometimes for years, walking around like they deserved life. They didn't. You had to fight for your life, wrestle with the thing that moved in the darkness. Any fool could tell you that. Their lives were not their own.

She knew the truth of them. It was what she was, a searcher for truth. Each time one of them had cried, begged for mercy, she _knew_. Their lives were on loan, and she was coming to collect the debt and give it to someone more worthy. She _deserved_ this power. She deserved to live on, always more life, more power. It was her _right_.

_Harkness thought justice was his God-given right._

Suzie rose from her bunk and crossed three paces to the metal bars. 

_What was justice, really?_

She looked to the left and to the right and saw only a row of bars, stretching into the darkness.

_Could justice truly be boiled down to an eye for an eye, a life for a life?_

She turned her back to the bars, her fingers on the button at her throat.

_Harkness had wanted to kill her, she could see it in his eyes, but most importantly, he had wanted to be the one to do it himself._

She folded her overshirt and laid it neatly on the bed in a perfect square.

_But wouldn't that rob everyone else of justice – Mark Brisco's widow, Jonah Bevan's mother, all the rest?_

She stepped smoothly out of her loose prison trousers and folded them, as well.

_No, Harkness had it wrong; he didn't crave justice, he thirsted for vengeance._

Her socks went, rolled up, into her cheap prison clogs, placed beneath the bunk.

_He wrapped it up in stirring phrases and grandiose gestures, but when it came right down to it, what he wanted was to spill her blood._

She hitched her thumbs in the hem of her undershirt and pulled it up, over her head.

_He was a fool, and she could prove it._

She slipped off her underwear, the dingy gray cotton thin from years of going through the prison's laundry system, some former inmate's stains permanently part of the cloth now. Her fingers flexed around the fabric of her undershirt, her lips barely moving as she tied it securely around her neck.

_Because I could not stop for Death,  
He kindly stopped for me;  
The carriage held but just ourselves  
And Immortality._

She could not reach the pipe bisecting the ceiling of her cell, but it was of little import when there were so many bars. She stood on the edge of her bunk and tied her shirt around a bar in her window.

_Since then 'tis centuries, and yet each  
Feels shorter than the day  
I first surmised the horses' heads  
Were toward eternity._

It was cramped, being so close to Death at all times. He resided inside her, burrowing into her very cells, and she had fought him and loved him in equal amounts for so long, but it wasn't going to last. No matter what she did, she couldn't make it last. 

A door opened at the end of the hall, the cadence of the voices definitely not belonging to Harkness – maybe one of the women, coming to collect her. It didn't matter. Her ride was here.

The cool air prickled her naked skin, blessedly free now from the filth and memories of all the former inmates. Not free from her ghosts, but soon they would no longer matter. She was ending it, on her terms – not on Harkness's or at the mercy of her ghosts, spitting defiance into the face of the dark – **her terms**.

She stepped off the bunk.


End file.
